This Peace of Ours
by Allthequirkythings
Summary: He's a soldier with an obsession for cleanliness. She's a medic who manages to get blood on everything. Levi recognizes Joli Lieber from his life Underground, while Joli just finds this captain fun to flirt with. A story of stupidly emotional human beings, doing laundry at 2 AM, and finding peace in unexpected places. LevixOC. Rated T for mild language.
1. Overdose: Numbing Agents

**Hello, friends. After recently discovering the insane and cruel (but beautiful) world of Attack on Titan, I decided to revive the old fanfic account despite exams and classes and responsibilities to actively contribute to society and blahhh.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own _SnK_. Duh.**

* * *

 **Year 850, the Forest of Giant Trees**

 **Captain Levi**

It's raining.

Levi squints up, deciding if it's worth the effort to pull on his hood. Rain patters against the leaves of the enormous trees above his head, falling fifty meters before splattering against the ground. Rainwater mingles with dilute blood and drains downhill across the dirt path back towards the vast plains they rode from only hours before. He surveys the edge of their temporary Recon Corps camp, the neat horizon of Wall Rose far ahead and the Forest of Giant Trees at their backs. The female titan, collapsed somewhere deep inside.

"We need to move soon," Mikasa comments, walking silently up to him.

The soldier finishes examining her last blade and slides it cleanly into its slot. One hand rests, tense on her weapon, as her sharp eyes move over the terrain. "Eren is safe. Staying this close to the forest is suicide." Her hands squeeze the grips of her maneuver gear, jaw setting like hard and mean concrete. "She could come out at any moment."

"Any old titan can come out whenever, wherever they want," Levi replies dismissively. "Camping for an hour won't hurt us this time."

The camping doesn't concern him, even though with this number of casualties, the Corps may have to rest for longer than usual. Levi's learned that it's of a strategic advantage to wait after a battle, to tend the wounds and plan the course so your recklessness doesn't suddenly kill you later at an even more inconvenient time. So instead of getting worked up about how long the Corps will camp this time, he narrows his eyes at the rain.

In the last five years, Levi's learned to watch the weather. If the rain intensifies, the Recon Corps' return to Karanes could be delayed indefinitely. He regards the storm clouds darkly as chill drops pepper his face and bounce off his green cape. Ever since his first expedition outside the walls, Levi's hated riding in the rain.

"She took extensive damage to her major muscle groups earlier," Levi finally says, turning to face his subordinate with worn, hard eyes. "She was tired enough already. We were lucky to catch her at her weakest."

He pauses, looking dispassionately back at the med tent. Eren, Levi knows, lies somewhere dumped inside, passed out and smelling like titan saliva.

"A smart bitch like her won't make chase," he concludes flatly. "Not after two close calls. For now, Erwin's reorganizing our formation. Tell your friends to refill gas and stand by. Try to get some rest while you can."

The girl doesn't relax, but reluctantly lets go of her grips.

"Yes, Captain."

Mikasa pauses a beat, hesitating, then plants her feet in the soil and salutes. "And thank you for saving Eren. I apologize for my insubordination. My mistake almost cost us our lives, and you're injured because of me."

"Thank me after that brat wakes up," is all Levi grumbles, tiredness finally catching up to him. It makes his shoulders ache and replaces the numbness in his broken foot with pain.

His eyes fall on his hands. Levi presses a wet palm to the cuff of his sleeve, rewetting the dried blood splattered across the blank fabric. If he keeps the blood damp, he's learned, the stain will come out easier later.

Mikasa has the tact to leave without saying another word.

Levi absentmindedly listens to her boots sink and suck into the wet ground behind him, mingling soon with the distant sounds of camp: of horses whinnying and yelled directions and calling for medics and crinkling of tarps to wrap around dead bodies and crying, the crying—god, after all this time, you think Levi would be used to the crying, the way Petra and Uluo bawled after missions when the final body counts were announced—

It strikes him bluntly that his squad members will be included in that number today. Levi's Special Ops Squad is dead. Shredded apart by stinking molars, officially and violently disbanded. The pain hits him like a hard hilt, like a fresh sore, makes his throat close and tongue salivate metallic and salty, like blood.

He still sees their faces—

Petra, the powerful woman, shattered in a sick and graceful arc against a tree. Oluo, the confident man, organs erupting out of his mouth. Guenther, the brave comrade, hanging crooked with a slit throat, dangling in space like a broken marionette. Eld, the calm friend, ripped in half, splattering the grass in his proximity with chunks of dead tissue and slick organs.

Levi wonders briefly about his duty to his Squad and the vow he made five years ago to protect them, to look out for them. They were a million things in this world: humanity's strongest fighters, reluctant and awful cleaners, his loyal friends and sometimes his worst enemies. They were aggravating at times, impossible all the time. They were dead, dead. What did he owe them now, after it was all over? How much is it supposed to hurt? Numb, numb. Is he supposed to cry for them?

The sounds of camp return with a rush of blood to the head. Levi suddenly feels the need to eat or vomit—he can't quite tell which. The stirring in his stomach mixes nauseatingly well with the pulsing pain in his left foot and head, and it's all he can do in the moment to keep himself upright, gritting his teeth until they shatter to chase away the black spots popping up in his vision.

If he falls now, it'll be hell to drag himself up again.

The smell and chill rain down his back eventually wakes him up.

Levi suddenly understands where Mikasa's impatience comes from. It's been over an hour since leaving the forest, and that mass of titans eventually will follow, like they always do. The Corps doesn't have enough time, they've never had enough time—from its conception, the Corps was caught in a paradoxical relationship with time, perpetually trying to both run from and chase it in the same stride. Levi needs to bind his foot and find his horse, but the Corps doesn't leave without new orders from Erwin. They need to move, he realizes with urgency. The stack of bodies is high enough. They've already been out here for far too long.

Letting the cold air dissolve the pain in his head and leg, Levi abruptly turns to find Erwin.

* * *

 **Year 850, the Forest of Giant Trees**

 **Medic Joli**

Out roll the bodies.

"That female titan really knew how to fight," Joshua observes, face serious for once. "How many words for carnage can you think of?"

He crouches next to Joli on the tree branch, peering down from their perch at the carts passing below.

Frenzied horses emerge from the Forest of Giant Trees like they're running out of hell, dragging carts on wooden wagon wheels behind them. The wheels dip and stumble across the footprints of titans in the dirt, knocking around the bodies or the remains of bodies stacked inside. The alarmingly short line of carts stops and spread out on the dirt road, right at the edge of the forest.

"They're back!" a captain shouts. In the trees around them, newbies crouch, eager to be of use after what's felt like years of playing bait and waiting. "All teams assist with camp preparations immediately!"

"YES, SIR!"

A flurry of bodies falls swiftly around Joli before firing 3DMG into the bark of nearby trees. The few dozen soldiers waiting on standby land safely and rush to unload crates of supplies and rations. From the forest, the remaining Recon Corps soldiers blaze out on horseback. They dismount in a hurry, running their horses to haphazardly unloaded bales of hay before rushing to refill their gas and unload medical supplies.

"Twelve carts left, meaning we've lost five since this morning," Joshua counts as the last cart passes underneath. "Four hold the supplies and eight are transporting bodies. We're looking at four or five patients on each cart, statistically with at least one in two in critical condition. That's about forty injured with up to twenty needing immediate medical attention."

Joshua pauses, seeming startled by his own calculations. "In other words, that's a lot of bodies."

"We'll use the marking system then," Joli says calmly, removing a pair of unused gloves from her smock pocket. She fishes into the other and emerges with two ink pens. "Don't worry. I've got an extra."

"Usual code then, right across the forehead," Joshua nods easily, picking a pen and holding it in his mouth. Reaching into the pocket of his white medic's coat, Joshua retrieves a pair of crumpled but clean gloves. He pauses briefly to crinkle warm coffee eyes in her direction.

"This is familiar, isn't it?" he says around the pen. "Even when you were just a rookie, I forgot to bring a marker into the field and you saved me then too. My lovely lieutenant, Joli Lieber. How did I even function before you entered my life?"

"Take that out of your mouth before you choke," she responds, not entirely displeased. Joli tugs the breathing cloth back over her nose and mouth, tucking flyaway auburn hairs back into her bun. "We can manage twenty if we move fast. Tell the other medics what's happening, and split into groups for each cart. I'll mark as many as I can. Meet you down there in a few minutes."

"It's a date then," Joshua says, grabbing the grips of his 3DMG.

He glances up. It's started raining.

"We've got lots of work to do."

* * *

Joli uncaps the pen with her teeth and swipes a quick line across the boy's forehead.

"Oh god," he moans, holding the open stub of his right arm. Blood seeps through his cape, soaking the veins and cracks of the wooden cart he lies on. "You've marked me for death, haven't you? Are you Death? Are you an angel?" His delirious eyes roll to white for a moment before they focus on Joli's face again, widening. "Are you...god?"

"If I were, I'd tell you," she assures him, wondering if this boy suffers from blood-loss-induced hysteria or simply naivety. Tucking the pen into her hair, Joli unclasps the steel box at her left hip. It's fastened to her 3DMG by tight belts and usually holds blades, but hers breaks open across the middle, revealing the six neat med kits packed within. Joli tilts out a bag and clips the steel container closed again.

"You're not going to die," she says, undoing the buckles around the med kit. It opens, and Joli reaches for a fresh roll of bandages. "As long as you don't stop talking to me, you'll be fine. Talk to a pretty girl like me, soldier. What's your name?"

"...Nathaniel," he manages, before his eyes roll backwards again.

Joli frowns slightly, wrapping the stump of his arm with practiced hands.

"He's the last in this cart, Lieutenant," another soldier announces when Joli's finished.

Joli slides off the cart, landing softly next to her. The girl salutes, as do the two other soldiers on standby with a cloth stretcher. "We'll transfer this patient to the medical tent for further treatment."

"What're the numbers?" Joli asks, cleanly stripping off the bloodied gloves and dropping them back into the cart.

"Current status: of thirty-seven persons requiring medical attention, twenty have not yet been treated. In the med tent, ten soldiers are marked as critical." A pause. "There's been one death in camp so far."

"At ease, soldier," Joli replies easily, replacing her gloves with a fresh pair. "I'm just a medic, not your captain. Talk to me like a friend. We could use friends in a time like this."

The girl shifts, uncomfortable. "If you'll excuse us, we have a body to move, Lieutenant."

Joli looks up, unblinking. In a bloody mess like this, those who refuse to be friends are automatically subordinates.

"So move it, soldier," she orders. "And hurry up. We've got more patients to see."

The girl purses her lips before saluting again. The soldiers load Nathaniel onto the stretcher and hurry back to the med tent.

Joli pauses briefly, examining the blood all over the front of her white smock. Beads of rain bounce off her coat, and Joli squints up at the light rain. She places a wrist on her forehead to absorb the sweat, wishing Joshua were with her to levy the depressing atmosphere with a joke or stupid fact about blood loss.

"No one wants to have even a bit of fun," Joli murmurs.

The next patient she sees struggles under the weight of another soldier.

"Sh-she can't stop shaking," the soldier babbles, tears pouring down her face. She pins the patient's flailing arms down onto the hard wooden surface of the cart. "I thought I hadn't seen her in a while and Amy's a friend from training and it's our first expedition and we said we'd look out for each other and oh god..."

Joli casts a quick eye over the patient. She notes the yellow and red foaming out of Amy's mouth, the way her thin body spasms and quakes against the hard wood. Using a gloved hand, Joli flips Amy's green cape aside.

The soldier gasps next to her.

Amy's maneuver gear hangs crushed and broken, the steel boxes folded inward like origami. Bent, blunt steel corners pierce deep into Amy's middle, bright metal staining bright red. The results of one hard, precise kick in the abdomen.

"Wh-what the h-hell could do this—"

"Our female titan friend," Joli murmurs, quickly unbuckling the equipment from Amy's waist. She gives a quick tug on each side, and the two containers clatter onto either side of Amy's body, dull steel corners slick with blood and sticky with tissue.

"Oh my god, oh my god...I-I-I didn't see Amy coming back on horseback, but I didn't think—"

Amy stiffens and gags suddenly, a cup of blood spurting over her clothes and splattering her friend in the face.

"Turn her on her side," Joli orders, kneeling over Amy's middle. She presses a hand against the patient's abdomen, sending another eruption of blood out of Amy's mouth and nose. The girl shudders, eyes white and milky.

"Massive upper gastrointestinal bleeding," Joli diagnoses quickly, sitting back. She takes a measured pause worth a thousand minutes before deciding. "...There's nothing we can do."

Joli uncaps her pen and draws an X over Amy's pale forehead.

"Wh-what's that?" the soldier stutters, still holding down Amy's limp wrists. Her wet chestnut eyes dart from Amy to Joli's hard face. "What do you mean there's nothing you can do? Is that some kind of code not to treat her? You're giving up on her? She's still alive, isn't she?!"

"This is how we prioritize," Joli responds, regarding the soldier with clear gray eyes. Amy's friend gapes back in disbelief.

Joli Lieber glances back down at the patient, half-heartedly looking for a reason to stay, for any sign of recovery. Amy's stopped shaking and looks up at the trees with glassy eyes. Saliva mixes with blood, flowing down her jaw and across her cheeks into inky black hair. The medic observes the body dispassionately before looking back up at Amy's friend.

Her watery eyes are so hopeful and hopeless, so naïve and pathetic, Joli sets her jaw before saying the words this girl won't truly hear or register until moments or minutes later—

"She's gone."

Two dead on camp.

The soldier fights it, eyes overflowing as she silently pleads Joli to take it back, to make it an unfunny and cruel joke. She doesn't let go of Amy's wrists.

"I-I can't, I can't..."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"I-I-I can't, I don't know how..."

"When you're ready, take her to the funeral cart for wrapping and preparation for travel. If there are any important personal items on her person you know of, you can retrieve them for her family."

And Joli Lieber moves on.

Even before joining the Corps eight months ago, Joli's known there's something inherently cruel about the job of a medic. A field medic works exclusively in a field of bodies and objective flesh. No room for attachment, barely any for numbness. If a patient dies, Joli isn't allowed the luxury of grief or sentimentality. After all, she treats the living, not the dead.

Joli knows the importance of coldness better than anyone. Numb, numb. Emotional attachment leads to very unprofessional, very distracting feelings if someone dies, and those kinds of regrets could kill a person. She finds it much easier, much more practical to just to keep moving.

And so Joli Lieber moves on. After all, there's nothing else to do.

* * *

"Run this soup to the captain," Sophie says when Joli reports back to the med tent. Sophie spoons a ladle of thick, steaming broth into a wooden bowl and hands it to her friend. "Captain Levi hasn't moved from lookout for the last hour."

Joli blinks.

"You've gotta be shitting me."

She's just finished marking another eight patients stable and delivering emergency surgery to a man whose lungs were crushed in the fist of a titan. Joli stands in front of the med tent, blankly registering her fingers burning from the heat of vegetable soup. Right in front of her lie a good two dozen soldiers in need of treatment. And Sophie wants her to deliver soup to an uninjured captain standing angstily out in the rain?

"No, Joli," Sophie answers flatly, green eyes regarding Joli without their usual warmth. Today, they look tired. "Why would I ever _shit_ you? Sound disgusting."

"You need help in there treating patients," Joli retorts. "Make a newbie run the soup. Better yet, make humanity's-strongest-soldier-who-is-very-capable-of-walking-by-himself come to _us_ when he's hungry."

"Why do you think I'm out here?" her friend responds miserably. Sophie pushes short brown hair behind her ears in irritation. "Joshua kicked me out because he says everything's under control and that I shouldn't _strain_ myself. Please just do me this favor and deliver the stew, Joli. Unless you'd rather be on soup duty..."

"I'm going, I'm going," her friend consents quickly, holding the bowl out like a benediction. "Joshua means well, Sophie. And I'll deliver the damn stew. Since when have you been so good at negotiating?"

Sophie panics and points the dripping ladle in Joli's direction.

"Stop cussing," she yelps, putting a protective hand over the buttons of her medic smock. Sophie rubs her abdomen fondly, and a few strands of dark hair fall back into her face. "It'll hear you."

" _It_ is still a bundle of cells," Joli responds, but her mouth still presses into a wry smile despite herself. She slips a metal spoon off the table into her coat pocket and leans over the table to bring her face close to Sophie's midriff. The Lieutenant Medic imagines the tiny, two-month-old fetus curled up inside.

" _Fuck_ ," Joli tells it softly.

She runs off to deliver the soup, laughing, the back of her coat splashed with angry drops from Sophie's ladle.

The captain stands a distance from camp, at the edge of the tree line. Rain softens the ground under Joli's boots, muffling her footsteps and making her legs relax slightly. She's seen Captain Levi before, riding with his Special Ops Squad or bickering with Captain Hange.

Since joining the Corps eight months ago, Joli's learned that Captain Levi strikes an imposing figure among the soldiers. Considered second only to Commander Erwin, when Sophie first pointed him out as humanity's strongest soldier, Joli had responded with: "You mean that short guy?"

Joli had never treated him before, and to the extent of her knowledge, neither had any of the other medics.

The man knows how to take care of himself.

She's about to reach out and touch his cloak, reluctant to break the silence, when Levi suddenly whirls around. He collides into her with the force of a running horse, almost sending Joli sprawling.

"You idiot!" Joli shouts when she regains her balance, suddenly protective of Sophie's stew. "I almost spilled!"

She feels a pinch of annoyance at his lack of response and decides that she does not like this Levi character.

Too lazy to get his own food, rude, and—Joli rolls her sore shoulder—unnaturally strong for someone so small.

Those who refuse to be friends are automatically subordinates.

She briefly hopes Levi won't have a problem with that.

* * *

 **Preview for next chapter:**

"About five years ago, in Mitras," he tries again. "You've worked in the Underground before, haven't you?"

 **Please review!**


	2. Machines

**Hi, lovelies.**

 **Here's a quick chapter for all of you enjoying the story so far. It's a bit of a struggle bus not to make Levi too OOC (sooooooo much temptation to make him the distant-yet-tragically-vulnerable-archetypal-male-who-lets-down-his-walls-for-the-right-woman).**

 **I'm also trying to keep myself consistent with updating, but I apologize in advance for unannounced hiatuses and weeks of prolonged silence in which I'm most likely interning or studying (Nah. More like watching TV.)**

 **Thanks to everyone who's reviewed/favorited/followed! I appreciate you.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own _SnK._ Duh.**

* * *

 ** _Previously:_**

 _She feels a pinch of annoyance at his lack of response and decides that she does not like this Levi character._

 _Too lazy to get his own food, rude, and—Joli rolls her sore shoulder—unnaturally strong for someone so small._

 _Those who refuse to be friends are automatically subordinates._

 _She briefly hopes Levi won't have a problem with that._

* * *

 **Year 850, The Forest of Giant Trees**

 **Captain Levi**

He collides into a small mass of white, nearly knocking the field medic into the mud.

Levi stumbles, wincing sharply as he places weight on his broken foot. The medic stumbles as well, catching herself against the bark of a nearby tree.

"You idiot, I almost spilled!" she barks, staring at the bowl in her hands. The girl steadies the steaming stew, carefully anchoring the bowl against her stomach as its contents swirl like sewage inside.

A curse crushes against Levi's grit teeth, threatening to break his molars. He opens his mouth to tell her to get lost, can't this brat tell that he's not in the mood for this—

In one motion, she pulls the breathing mask off her mouth, and it makes him stop. The white cloth falls, loose, around her neck. She blows escaped auburn hairs out of her face, focused in her bowl of stew. The gray eyes are quick and sharp, watching the bobbing bits of vegetables like a hawk; they seem to flicker everywhere and see everything in a moment, impossibly perceptive.

Levi sees her face, and stops. She's eerily familiar.

When the stew stops shifting, the girl balances the bowl in one hand and reaches into the pocket of her long coat with the other. She fishes out a metal spoon and plants it firmly in Levi's hand.

"Eat," she orders.

Levi looks at her, eyes narrowing under his curtain of damp black hair.

Because for some reason, this girl reminds him of something...of dark, sick, slick cobblestoned streets...

The medic's gray eyes regard the captain, unimpressed.

"You think you're the only one who gets to deliver orders around here?" she demands, voice loud more than outright aggressive. She squints at him before planting a hand on her brow to keep the rain from her eyes. Drops fall in her hair and across the shoulders of her smock. Her coat's stained dark brown with blood across her lap, and when she lifts her arm, Levi spots the bulkiness of maneuver gear under her smock. Hers, like other medics', is strictly defensive equipment, carrying a dozen med kits around her waist instead of blades.

The girl, meanwhile, purses her lips at Levi's unmoving expression. She seems impatient, hostile for some reason he can't identify.

"That's lieutenant field medic Joli Lieber to you, sir," she announces, lifting her sharp chin in a proud way that makes him twitch in irritation. "First squad, assigned to assist on the front lines. I've been told to serve you. Are you injured anywhere...sir?"

Joli drags the title through her lips until it sounds ironic, but not quite yet rude.

He recognizes that testiness as well.

She's beginning to look quite familiar, isn't she?

"I know you," he says abruptly. "We've met before."

Joli blinks at the captain, hands around the stew, considering.

"Quite possibly, sir," she eventually says, but Levi doesn't find any recognition in her expression. "I've served on the Recon Corps for the last eight months, so it's not unusual if you've seen me before—"

Captain Levi shakes his head slightly, frowning at her. He recognizes those quick, gray eyes from somewhere. She wears her thick hair gathered and bundled at the base of her neck; when she tilts her chin up, loose strands float to touch her neck. Irritated by his staring, Joli's brow knits together into neat lines, and Levi recognizes that too.

He finally places her face, eyes widening slightly in surprise. In his memory, Levi sees a younger and softer Joli Lieber, hair and mouth covered by handkerchiefs—

 _She pushes open a window and sloshes a pail of waste water onto the street below, careful not to spill any on the huddle of homeless gathered outside the door. They cough and wheeze along the streets, illuminated by perpetually flickering and damp lantern light._

Memories of a clinic across from where Levi used to live. The one he told Isabel not to steal from. Their services were free, after all.

"Before that," Levi says, mildly surprised at the recognition. He takes a step closer to her, observing Joli Lieber's suspicious expression. "You really don't remember me, huh? What about Isabel? You treated her before." A pause. "She threw up on you."

Joli takes a small step back, frowning. "You're scaring me, Captain."

Despite her alleged fear, her voice is calm in a way Levi usually associates with doctors and Commander Erwin.

He stops.

So she doesn't remember him. Levi supposes this is fair; Joli never even saw his face back then, for all the time that she knew him. He reminds himself that the old Joli Lieber never even met Captain Levi; in the Underground, she only knew him as their district's resident thief and criminal.

A thief and criminal who had saved her ass a few times over, sure, but only one of many thieves and criminals who operated Underground. She doesn't remember him now, five years later, and that is fair.

Levi never even told her his real name, after all.

"About five years ago, in Mitras," he tries again. "You've worked in the Underground before, haven't you?"

His sharp eyes catch the way her body tenses under the white smock before relaxing again.

"You confuse me for someone else," Joli responds, answering perfectly in a move that's almost defensive. "I was born and raised in Mitras. After twenty-three years of the sheltered life, I joined the Corps as a field medic eight months ago." She finishes with a shrug. "I've just got one of those faces."

Levi doesn't respond—just watches her without enthusiasm. The medic's bottom lip quivers, and she raises her chin higher as if to compensate, examining him through cool gray eyes.

After a moment, he tells her flatly: "You're a shitty liar, you know that?"

Joli blinks rapidly for a moment as if considering denying it; he looks back at her, unimpressed. Finally, after a pause, she gives him a dirty look and rolls her eyes up to nowhere in particular. Her annoyed expression makes her bear more resemblance to the face he remembers.

 _She is the girl in the clinic with a pair of quick eyes, warm and alive like ashes under a fire. Sometimes, when the crowd fills the entire alleyway with their sick, desperate bodies, the physicians let her stitch cuts and administer medicines. She's patient, waiting for the distrust to melt on a person's face before delivering a shot. She smiles wider if you tell her your name. How did a girl like that end up Underground?_

"You make a compelling argument, Captain," Joli says coolly after a pause, regarding him with her usual appraising expression. "I'll tell you that story one day, if you remind me."

Levi thinks about the kind of story that makes a person like this, emotionless and unfazed. A story like his, he supposes.

"But as for today, we're staying in camp for another hour on Commander Erwin's orders," Joli continues, bringing him out of his thoughts. She swirls the soup mechanically between in her hands. "The lookouts haven't reported titan movement from the forest yet, and we've still got too many soldiers in critical condition or missing for us to leave."

She offers him the bowl again, and, after a pause, Levi takes it.

He shifts his balance forward, accidentally sending another spear of pain into his foot. Levi quickly hides the wince—too late. Joli's sharp eyes flash to his left side, and she leans forward to examine his face in her wide-eyed way that makes Levi suddenly feel defensive, too open and vulnerable, like a bratty kid under the scrutiny of a teacher or suspicious mother.

"You should eat while you have the chance, Captain," Joli directs, ignoring his irritated expression. Her gaze flickers over his face, and she delays his spoon to flash a look in his mouth and eyes.

"Are you done?" Levi says flatly when she steps back. "I was told to eat."

"Appreciate the attention of a beautiful woman while it lasts," Joli returns smoothly, seeming pleased by his responding scowl. Her eyes move up and down the rest of his body. They catch the unsteadiness between his feet, the overcompensation of weight on the right.

Satisfied with her impromptu examination, Joli folds her arms loosely and steps back.

"I suppose you're not a child anymore; you know your own body better than anyone else. How're you feeling, Captain?"

He tries a spoonful of broth, face turning dark.

"This tastes like shit."

"Wouldn't you think so," she murmurs.

Her gaze pauses thoughtfully on his left foot. Before he can swallow or protest, Joli bends down in one fluid motion and, without invitation, runs a firm hand down the back of his calf. Levi jerks and grits his teeth, almost dumping stew all over her hair.

"Sit down a moment," Joli orders, suddenly absorbed in probing his kneecap with her thumbs. "The nerve seems fine, but I need you to relax to find out exactly where you're broken."

"I just need it bound," he manages.

"And _I_ just need you to sit down."

When Levi doesn't make a motion, she glances up. Rain still sprinkles around them, making Joli squint up and push away the strands of hair sticking to her forehead. He glares down at her, but his brooding eyes trace the area around her feet as well, regarding the wet, squishy ground with a dark expression.

She traces his eyes, her face lightening with amusement.

"Not scared of a little dirt, are you?" she asks innocently.

His eyes burn with hatred.

Joli shrugs. "Fine. Stand on one foot then."

She's rolling his ankle when it occurs to Levi how stupid he looks, balanced on one foot, holding a bowl of soup.

"Just the fibula then," Joli concludes, finally letting go of his leg.

She considers something for a moment before pressing a rude finger against the side of his boot. It breaks all over again and Levi lets out a string of curses, suddenly regretting the fact that he can't move his leg to kick her across the face. The pain shoots like a spear up his shin and when it finally subsides, he barely registers the careful hand wrapped around his calf.

Joli looks up at his murderous expression, eyes unblinking. The porcelain features soften with a trace of amusement. _What a sadist._

"It is most definitely broken," she says.

"Yeah, no _shit_."

Joli chooses to ignore that.

"I'd say you're lucky to still feel pain, Captain. I'll bind this up for you then."

The medic tugs his boot off, surprisingly gently, and folds it under her arm. The edge of her white coat pulls against the mud when she stands up.

"Let's head back to the med tent," she directs, placing a firm hand under his elbow. "You can finish your soup there."

"I need to talk to Erwin," he suddenly remembers.

 _Shit. How could I forget about that?_

"He's planning in his tent with Captain Hange," she quotes dismissively. " _Not to be disturbed_ , they say. Let the tacticians do their work. Let me do mine."

Levi narrows his eyes at her.

"We stay here, we're dead."

"How do you know that?"

"...Intuition."

A pause.

"We've lost sixty-seven personnel," Joli states, gaze unmoving from his face.

The number checks so neatly off her tongue that Levi knows they must have cultivated and stewed around in her mouth for hours. After so long, they don't even hold emotion anymore. The saliva breaks the deaths into objective numbers, which are considerably easier to manage than a pile of bodies with familiar faces. He knows this trick better than anyone. And despite himself, Levi softens towards the medic in a way others might mistake as weakness.

"Twenty-one still missing," Joli recites, expression turning detached and ashen. "Fifteen in critical condition, and two already dead in camp. The commander knows these things. His is an informed decision."

"Erwin's bad at looking past his own shit-stained hands sometimes," Levi counters, aware of how much of an ass he sounds and not caring. Joli raises one eyebrow at his familiar reference to the commander and the other at the insult.

"As of right now," he continues flatly, "we're worse than we usually are. That makes for an even shittier situation than usual...We're no better than toothless infants in a land of giants."

She considers him for a moment.

Suddenly the medic sighs dramatically, breaking the seriousness. Her face is overly tragic in a way that makes Levi wonder if she's making fun of him at a time like this.

"The words of a sage from the mouth of a soldier," she finally muses. Her eyes smile at him half-heartedly, ironic, cynical. "You're right, though. Infants and giants. Isn't it so humbling to be small?"

"I can walk by myself," Levi responds, a little sharper than he intends.

Joli opens her mouth to retort but bites it back.

A hint of annoyance and shame passes over her face, as if she doesn't understand his disapproval of putting the dead and humor so close together, but regrets it anyway. But as quickly as it comes, the offended look disappears with a short jerk of her chin. Her hand drops from his arm and she steps back, watching him through the edges of her eyes like she's reevaluating him, trying to find his seams, count all his pieces, and know him.

"Yes," Joli considers. "Yes, of course you can, Captain."

The trip back to camp proves long and tedious.

They make it a whole two meters without insult.

Then: "...I can _feel_ you touching my arm, dumbass."

A scoff.

" _You're_ the one that stumbled. Do you want to fracture something else, too?" This time, Joli doesn't let go. "And don't flatter yourself, Captain. These hands are purely professional."

"...Stop flirting at a time like this."

He ignores the way she visibly brightens at his scowl, seeming to take it as a sign of forgiveness.

"Why not? It's stopped raining, hasn't it?"

He glances up, letting her warm side press support against his shoulder. It's true; it's stopped raining. Levi doesn't usually believe in omens, but...well. Well. At the very least, he counts it as a good sign.

"Besides, who's the one with the broken leg again?" Joli Lieber laughs quietly in the mechanical way she seems to do everything these days. " _Dumbass_."

* * *

 **Preview for next chapter:**

"I hear they're very kind people," Farlan assures Isabel. He peers down the street at the small clinic, thoughtful..."They're just a team of medical volunteers, vaccinating up against the epidemic."

 **Review?**


	3. It Happened Underground (Pt 1)

**It's been a while, I know. I'm sorry. I won't make any excuses (but laboratory internship and research failure and college class prep and Kaneki Ken. I've cheated on this fandom with Tokyo Ghoul. Forgive me, I am weak.)**

 **Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, followed, and showed their support for this story. If you were Sasha, I would give you all the steamed potatoes. Love, love, love you all.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own _SnK._ Duh.**

* * *

 _ **Previously:**_

 _He glances up, letting her warm side press support against his shoulder. It's true; it's stopped raining. Levi doesn't usually believe in omens, but...well. Well. At the very least, he counts it as a good sign._

 _"Besides, who's the one with the broken leg again?" Joli Lieber laughs quietly in the mechanical way she seems to do everything these days. "_ Dumbass _."_

* * *

 **Year 844, the Underground District**

 **Levi**

"I don't wanna go," Isabel complains, kicking exaggeratedly against the ground. She glares at Farlan, who's wrapped an arm around her shoulders to pin down her struggling arms. He half-drags Isabel down the stairs, grimacing as her elbows pummel the soft spot under his ribs.

"This is for your own good," Farlan manages, dodging a kick to the shins. "It may not feel like it now, but afterwards—"

" _I'll bite you!_ " Isabel barks. "I'll frickin' _bite your dumb blond head off!_ "

"Shut up," Levi says. "You'll wake the whole neighborhood with your screaming."

He observes the dim street lights, lanterns that cast shadows all the way up to the hard rock ceilings. The district directors turn the gas low at midnight, though the fake nighttime makes little difference in the perpetual darkness of the Underground. Nonetheless, Levi frowns. It's later than he expected.

"Levi-bro," Isabel whines, suddenly appealing to him with a pout. She struggles to catch up next to him, dragging Farlan behind her. "I'm running my mouth, which you always say is a sign that I'm healthy. See, I'm perfectly fine! I'm not sick, don't make me go..."

"Shut up," he says again, with enough force to cow her but not quite enough to hurt her feelings. Levi folds his arms and turns to Isabel, eyes narrowing.

She automatically swallows, shrinking back into Farlan's hold. Levi-bro doesn't tell her to shut up more than twice before the sharp blades come out. No meals for an evening, confiscated maneuver gear, glares and silence that hurt worse than hair-pulling—penalties of the sort.

"If you're so healthy, why aren't you eating?" Levi counters. "Why'd you puke all over our carpet? And our sofa? And our _dinner table?_ _Disgusting_..."

She looks at him with frustration and thinks hard for a minute, resting her chin against Farlan's arm. Levi sees an idea hit her with a ping.

"It's a lady thing," Isabel says sagely. "Men-stru-a-tion. You wouldn't understand."

Farlan quietly takes a step away from her.

Levi examines her for a minute. "Who taught you that word?"

"What? _No one!_ "

"Bullshit."

"Why don't we give her another few days," Farlan offers, placing a firm hand on Isabel's shoulder, signaling for her to play along. "We'll see if there's a real problem after then."

Levi shakes his head, crossing his arms. "We've got a job tomorrow. We need everyone we have to help."

"I can do it," Isabel affirms forcefully. " _Levi-bro, I_ —"

Her words break with a cough, and Levi narrows his eyes at her, daring her to prove his point. She holds her breath and peers back defiantly, but after a moment her face turns red. Isabel eventually relents, coughing hard into her fist. It's a series of short, staccato, barking sounds that concerns Levi more than he shows.

Farlan pats her back gently, holding her arm as Isabel catches herself on the dirty brick of a building. The hacking fit gradually resolves to violent wheezing, and Levi furrows his brow at the way Isabel takes a shaky breath, clutches her stomach in pain, and tries to breathe again.

"So excitable," Farlan murmurs when she finally straightens. Isabel leans weakly, resigned, against his arm. "Levi's right, Isabel, you should go to the clinic. You can't function if you're not healthy. Our jobs are risky enough as it is, and we don't want you getting hurt."

Isabel swallows, swiping a rough hand over her mouth.

"Yeah, I guess," she finally mutters back. She looks up at Levi with begrudging eyes. "But you _better_ not leave me there by myself. I'm not staying in the same room as those Topside doctors outnumbered." Her hoarse voice turns dark, almost excited. "I hear they sell organs sometimes. They collect the hands and eyeballs of patients they find pretty, then bid them off to rich people! Isn't that creepy? _And I have beautiful eyes_..."

Levi pokes her in the forehead, hard enough to make her head drift backwards but not as hard as usual.

"Idiot," he says flatly. "Hands aren't organs. Besides, we're not letting you die tonight...got it?"

She presses her brow together, uneasy, but eventually nods.

"I hear they're very kind people," Farlan assures Isabel. He peers down the street at the small clinic, thoughtful. A few beggars linger beside the door, hidden in the shadows cast by a single, pale bulb at the corner. "They're just a team of medical volunteers, vaccinating up against the epidemic. They set up their clinic a few weeks ago, and people say they've got enough narcotics to put this entire block to sleep. Some kids tried to rob them a few times, but they left, beat up...but with their wounds disinfected and bandaged. Nothing about an Underground organ trade."

"Never heard of anyone so... _humanitarian_ ," Levi comments tonelessly, but Farlan catches the stripe of suspicion in his friend's otherwise colorless voice. "Let's treat this visit like any other high profile job."

"Ooh, do we get to wear our masks?" Isabel suddenly brightens. "Can _I_ choose fake names this time? Totally getting back at _this idiot_ —" she punches Farlan with emphasis— "for calling me _Fifi_ last time when we met with Boss Sigmund... _geez_ , what kind of god awful name is _Fifi?_ "

"I thought it was pretty," Farlan mutters in self-defense. "But _fine_. We'll go in masked, but that means we need to leave our maneuver gear behind—we'd be too obvious otherwise. Isabel is in charge of names, I'll try to dig out her medical records and those old masks, and Levi..."

"I'll plan our strategy," he states, bracing his foot against a cleaner section of damp alley wall.

His steely eyes narrow at the clinic and the bare bulb that buzzes innocuously over a single swept stair. He considers what kind of game these "volunteers" are playing at—not charging anything for an appointment despite the crowds of sick people and paralytics and drug addicts pressing against their door, humidifying the entire block with their illness and desperation. Some days, Levi needs 3DMG just to get out of his own neighborhood because of the stench. And even if a group of do-good doctors really _did_ descend into this district to establish a free clinic a month ago, the Underground has a way of stamping out that kind of altruism. Levi knows that greed festers in the dark.

So as Farlan runs back to their home to grab Isabel's medical history, and as Isabel brainstorms a list of the worst male names she can think of, Levi mentally calculates the amount of money they can gather together from this month's earnings. He comes up with a fair amount they could use to pay off the average close-fisted doctor: an amount that can most likely cover Isabel's treatment, or—if the situation escalates—her ransom.

Levi may not know what kind of game these medics play, but this he knows for certain: something that comes this easily can't be free.

"I dug the old masks out of my closet," Farlan announces when he returns, pulling three thick, black scarves out of his back pocket and tossing one to each of them. He holds one to his mouth, breathes once, and smiles. "Brings back memories, doesn't it? These still remind me of Boss Sigmund." He shakes the mask, inspecting the inside. "I think there's even a little cocaine left in mine..."

Isabel flicks the scarf back and forth in concentration, pausing briefly to murmur in their direction. "...Medboot...Mouseface...Mallard...Which one do _you_ think would fit Farlan the _worst_ ,Levi-bro?"

They watch her for a moment.

"Let's hope they've got the brains to figure out what's wrong with her," Levi responds grimly, holding the mask up to the dim street light to inspect for staining. He narrows his sharp eyes at the fabric in the kind of dissatisfaction that Farlan now associates with poorly-made tea and unacceptable laundry. "Look at this filth, Isabel. It's your saliva."

"...Salivander...Streether...Sewerd..." The rest of her names are muffled by the mask tossed neatly into her face.

Levi pulls the one in her hand and grimaces as he slides it over his nose and mouth, trying not to imagine dust and dirt and mites from Farlan's closet crawling through the scratchy wool into his ears, onto his tongue...

"Let's get moving," he says, working his jaw to dislodge the claustrophobic feeling of fabric around his neck. "Are you ready, Isabel?"

"...Readula...Ranchbum...Rowass... _oh!_ I've just thought of the _perfect_ name for you, _Farlan..._ "

"...If you weren't sick, I would kill you."

* * *

 **Year 844, the Underground District**

 **Joli**

"Sterile bandages...chloroform...saline bags...hypodermic needles...syringes...fever meds, pain meds, anti-clot meds, clot meds, muscle meds, headache meds, stomach meds—we need more chewables, Vernon, the kids hate these things...they're like _horse pills_ —"

"Y'know," the doctor interrupts, swinging the strap of his mouth mask casually around one finger. The dim light of the storage room accentuates the smile lines around his eyes and mouth, making him look much older than his actual twenty-one. "You're just an intern, Joli, so maybe you haven't realized how government humanitarianism works yet. You've _sent_ two order forms Topside since we've got here, but oddly enough, we've yet to _receive_ packages. Wonder why that is?"

Joli examines the seals of a dozen bottles of S2 vaccine and answers distractedly. "Bureaucracy." She makes an unhappy note on her pad. " _Dammit_...we might need to start halving dosages. The S2 outbreak really hit these people hard."

" _Bureaucracy_ ," Vernon affirms grimly, leaning back on his wooden chair. His hands rest on the back of his neck as he reclines, a position Vernon takes when he's feeling particularly contemplative. "To think: just a few months ago, we barely got the grant from the Academy to set up this clinic. Not many Mitras people like talking about the Underground, y'know? Steven and I founded this place cause we thought it would help these poor bastards." He shakes his head in disbelief, curls of orange hair rustling. "Now I'm afraid _we're_ the poor bastards. Too many patients, not enough chloroform...I think it might be time to retire..."

Joli pauses from taking inventory. "It's been a month," she points out, leaning across him to touch a neat box of hand soap, 16-bar count with 3 bars gone. She makes a note: 13 bars of soap.

"It smells down here." Vernon crinkles his nose, flicking the edge of her braid with a narrow finger when it swings by. "The Garrison suck at their jobs...we'll get robbed again..."

"You and Steven kicked some major ass last time, didn't you?" she smiles, abandoning the list-making entirely. She leans against a step ladder, laughing quietly. "Bet those kids didn't expect Topside doctors to train in the military too."

"But it was so _tiring_ ," he complains. "I hadn't been so tired since that old man Keith made me run the camp perimeter for sneaking into the girls' tent when we were trainees..."

His young face briefly relaxes into a dreamy smile before quickly adopting a gloom again, as if reminding himself of his dissatisfaction.

"Life down here is so _sad_. It's depressing. And we're going to run out of supplies..."

Joli opens her mouth to reply, then closes it, troubled. Vernon spews tragedy like a drama queen, but he has a point.

"We just need to ration supplies," she offers, already running the numbers on her inventory list. She ignores the strand of cherry wood hair that escapes her braid to touch her chin. "If we cut dosages and apportion patients more effectively among our staff, we can manage for at least another two weeks until we can find some more donors. The real problem is vaccinating. Thankfully this block hasn't been hit too hard, so if we can vaccinate at least all the children in the next few neighborhoods—"

Vernon raises an eyebrow. "Wait just a minute, Joli Lieber. By 'apportion patients more effectively among our staff', do you mean 'let volunteer intern Joli treat real people without the necessary experience and training'? Because that would be, y'know, terribly irresponsible, not to mention something Steven _very clearly_ disapproves of."

Joli cringes slightly at his tone, turning back to boxes of clean gloves to avoid looking at him, wondering how a guy like Vernon can be so perceptive when he wants to be.

"I've been to the Academy too," she says, back straight to him but stomach sinking. "I'm trained _at least_ as a basic nurse."

"Steven's made it very clear how we feel about this," Vernon frowns, all four legs of his chair on the ground as he leans forward. "You don't know how to tell a malignant growth from a benign one, or how to look for S2-infected cells in a blood sample—"

"—but I can at least _identify_ an abnormal growth," Joli points out, turning back to Vernon. They've had this discussion before, but somehow, she's not pleading the same way that she used to. Her chin quirks up slightly and her entire body straightens as well, and the doctor wonders how a girl like Joli can be so imposing when she wants to be. "I can at least _take_ a blood sample. Please let me do all the arbitrary medical work. I just..." Her gray eyes blink like a shutter, as if suddenly cramped in the storage room. "It's been a _month_ , Vernon. I understand why it's felt so long. I just want to _see_ people. I'm tired of only taking inventory and cleaning bedpans. It's boring." She makes a face, appealing to his generous side. "Plus, it's gross."

"Fair point," Vernon concedes, settling back into the chair and rubbing his slightly fuzz-covered chin. He thinks hard for a moment, and she tightens her hands around the clipboard, wondering where the confident Joli Lieber ran off too. After what she's sure is half the night, Vernon finally opens his mouth again.

"Fine," he concedes, but raises a finger at her elated expression. "But _who_ handles the diagnosing and treating and prescribing and general doctoring? That last part should be a good hint."

"Doctors Steven and Vernon," Joli replies dutifully, the steely look on her face now completely replaced by earnestness. She salutes him, a loose fist pressed against her white coat. "I will not administer anything stronger than antiseptic without the doctors' consent."

He considers her for a moment. He watches her face regain its composure, perhaps a bit brighter than before, and briefly smiles.

Vernon and Steven had been hoping for months leading up to the grant for the perfect assistant to knock on their dorm door. Fresh graduates of the King's Academy, the two newly-certified doctors decided that treating obese nobles in Mitras was far from what they wanted to do for the rest of their lives. It wasn't a pity, some of their peers said. Vernon didn't graduate with any particular honors, after all, and despite ranking within the top ten in their class, not many saw Steven without his face in a graphically illustrated surgical manual.

Their peers and other scholars claimed they were obsessed with new and dangerous things.

They applied for a startup grant to establish their clinic in an absurd location: Underground, District 6. Six was one of the relatively quieter districts, though Joli soon realized that "quieter" meant only an average of _fourteen_ significant burglaries occurring in the block in a month as opposed to the usual _nineteen_ or _twenty._ They also posted notices for an assistant, mostly for administrative purposes more than medical. To manage supplies and send monthly status reports to the donors and keep records and the like. That was half a year ago.

Around two months ago, _she_ had spun into their dorm, flushed from three years of medical study and with no administrative experience. Steven barely looked up from his book before nailing her as the naïve, optimistic type who'd be appalled to learn that she can't possibly save everyone, no matter how hard she tried. Vernon admired her naïve optimism and liked her immediately.

Joli also volunteered to work, no pay, for as long as they needed her. And since she was the only applicant, they brought her Underground with her single bag that rolled behind her when she walked, the one that the citizens kept eyeing with that desperate and semi-crazed look in their eyes. She leaves it under her cot now. The bag, like she, hasn't seen sunlight in over three weeks.

"Y'know, I still remember the first time you knocked on our door. Dressed in that cute little intern cape. I s'pose it's time for you to move up in the world," Vernon states, puffing up with pride. "I remember when we found you at our door. You were just nineteen..."

"I'm still nineteen," Joli chirps, still too pleased to notice Steven come up behind her.

Vernon immediately deflates. "Ah—"

"Who's moving up in the world?" Steven comments, drab voice causing her to start. He pushes his glasses up slightly, dully looking down at Joli's fidgeting face. "I was in the middle of this fascinating article on realigning torn intestines using very effective and invasive techniques..."

"Surprise!" Vernon chuckles nervously. "It seems...I might've possibly hired ourselves a new nurse, please-don't-be-mad."

Steven examines both of them slowly with disinterest. They shift under the scrutiny of his deeply bagged black eyes, suffering under the bland but also uncomfortably penetrating gaze. After a moment, the young doctor finally pats down his navy hair and yawns.

"Ah," is all Steven says. "New nurse takes first night watch. Remember not to let in more than two patients at a time."

Then his pale face disappears behind the manuscript and he strolls away, humming something eerily minor and unpleasant.

"Can you imagine him as a kid?" Vernon whispers to Joli after a moment.

"No," she whispers back, rubbing life back into her suddenly chilled arms. "I always thought he sort of...came out like that."

"But guess what," Vernon comments quietly, beckoning until she leans closer, his breath tickling her ear.

"HA-HA! NIGHT WATCH, SUCKER—!"

A squishy sound as Joli's fist contacts his face.

"Sorry," she murmurs as Vernon rolls around on the floor, clutching his nose. She rubs her wrist, slightly annoyed but mostly guilty. "You _know_ I'm really touchy."

A single drop of blood drips from his nose when he eventually stands, groping at the shelf and stuffing a fresh pad of gauze onto his face. Joli decides now is not the appropriate time to tell him about their gauze shortage.

"Watch yourself tonight," he manages, jabbing an accusing finger in her direction. "If the crazies don't get you by morning, I swear _I_ will."

* * *

 **Preview for next chapter:**

"I'll be honest," Joli whispers to him, peering at the jeering crowd with impervious eyes.

Behind that, though—behind that facade, Levi captures a glint of her hurt in the reluctance with which she meets his eyes again, as if afraid of him knowing that she, despite her pride, is vulnerable to hurt as well...Joli laughs overly jauntily at his expression, her sharp jaw that opens with pulleys and gears instead of humor.

"Ironic, isn't it? I've never felt so unwelcome coming back home."

 **Review?**


	4. The Things We Believe In

**Hi, lovelies.**

 **For those of you like me who appreciate a visual description of an OC early on, I included a little character profile of Joli Lieber (which may or may not include future chapter spoilers) at the end of this chapter!**

 **This chapter in the manga is one of my favorites, so I couldn't resist not including it in This Peace with a little non-canon plot incorporated in as well. I also think this chapter (and the ones around it) reveal a lot about Levi's character; that being said, this chapter of This Peace just represents my own interpretation of the notoriously heartbreaking scene between Levi and Petra's father. *sniffs***

 **As always, thanks for reviewing, favoriting, following, and just taking the time to read this scrappy little story. Please consider dropping a review! I love hearing from you all.**

 **Thanks :)**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own** _ **SnK.**_ **Duh.**

* * *

 **Year 850, Karanes**

 **Captain Levi**

The return home feels like plunging a knife into new wounds to seal them. Desperate, but inevitable.

"Just look at them, look at their faces—"

"Our tax money went to _this_ — _?!_ "

"—free food to the titans, didn't I tell you—"

"—cannot allow these people to disgrace the sanctity of our walls any longer—"

" _My son...my poor son..._ "

"Excuse me, Captain Levi!"

His head turns, slowly, at the call of his name.

"Thank you," the man says firmly, smiling as if determined not to take the cries and jeers of the crowd personally. The edges of his hairline dissolve deep into his forehead, but he keeps the firm posture and stride of a much younger man. "I'm Petra Ral's father," he introduces. "I thought I'd stop and speak with you for a moment before I find my daughter..."

Levi guides his horse around a broken watermelon, tossed onto the street by angry citizens. Flies and rot congregate, red flesh splattered across pale pavement.

"My daughter," the man continues, struggling slightly to match Levi's mechanical pace. Petra's father chuckles nervously, turning his entire body to search Levi's unmoving eyes for any answer. Not finding one, Peter Ral collects himself and rifles into his coat, carefully pulling out a folded paper, hand shaking ever so slightly.

"She...she sent me this letter, you see. She wrote that she received the high honor of serving in your squad, and that she would devote herself to you..."

Levi feels the medic's wrapping loosen in his boot as he walks. His foot is killing him.

"...I-I suppose she's too starry-eyed to really consider what her father feels." Petra's father chuckles again, the anxiety surfacing in a stutter despite his efforts to hide it. He looks again at the Captain for a response, but receives nothing. "Um, well...anyway, as her father..."

The rest of the words muffle as Levi focuses on Erwin's back a few yards in front of him. The Commander walks so tall—dauntless despite the newspaper reporters and spitting critics and mourning citizens shouting abuses in his direction from all sides.

For a moment, Levi is thankful for his height. There is no burden to stand tall when one is little more than 5 feet tall.

He briefly registers the word "marriage" come from the man next to him.

Petra's father's voice quakes openly now, valiant attempt of a smile finally starting to fail. "...she's still young and has her whole life in front of her, so...I was hoping, if you could tell me where she is..."

"Mr. Ral," Levi says.

The man looks up pleadingly.

" _Your daughter, Petra Ral_..."

Levi turns to the man with morose eyes, finally affirming Peter Ral's fears that had compounded from the moment Petra was a child: from the moment his wife returned home from her first mission outside the walls since their daughter's birth and from the day of the return. Peter held the hand of his six-year-old girl and watched his daughter's eyes widen with adoration at the sight of her mother running to them, emerald cloak flying across her shoulders. From that moment, he knew with a sinking heart that his daughter possessed the same wildness and brazenness that would eventually be the death of his wife. And from that moment, the fear took root in his heart and he mourned prematurely for his child.

"... _gave her life for humanity in the field of battle_..."

Peter Ral's known from the moment Petra joined the military. From the moment he received that damn letter and saw Levi walk past just a minute ago, alone.

But despite knowing, he still crumbles. He's been desperate for so long, struggling to stay hopeful on the outside, for Petra. And despite his grave self-assurances that this day would come—had to come—Peter Ral convinces himself for what's not the last time that there was nothing else he could have done.

Today, she's finally gone.

Inevitable. That's what this was.

"My daughter," the man moans, falling behind, a broken stone in the river of emerald cloaks. " _My sweet girl..._ "

Levi lets a few exhausted Corps members take care of Petra's father, and they lead him to a stair along the side of the road on which he sits, head in hands, like he's always been there mourning and always will be.

The captain forces himself to move forward towards Wall Rose, readying himself for what's no doubt to be a long ride to the former Corps headquarters today. The King's messenger delivered the letter barely after they were safely within the walls of Karanes. The letter that stated due to crimes against humanity, Commander Erwin, all Corps captains and lieutenants, and the shifting titan would be taken into custody and tried in Mitras three days from now. A Military Police escort was to meet them at midday by the outer gates of Stohess to accompany the criminals into Mitras.

 _Three days._

The way things are going, Levi briefly considers how the Council will organize his execution. As a spectacle, most likely. Maybe a hanging. He considers it. Objectively, hanging's not the worst way to die.

But now is not the time to think like a dead man. Instead, Levi fixes his eyes ahead.

He watches Erwin's straight shoulders and calm stride part the crowds of hatred and spite like a sea, the words and accusations glancing off his cape like rainwater. Clear eyes that are always focused on something beyond that no one can quite see. Just by looking at the Commander's steady gait, Levi has no doubt.

 _Three days._

After reaching HQ in the evening and dismissing the remaining Recon Corps members, the summoned members will strategize in the old manor for a two nights. And by the look on Erwin's face, he's already churning through plans to get the Corps out of this shitty, bureaucratic mess.

 _Three days._

Three days is more than enough.

* * *

 **Year 850, Karanes**

 **Medic Joli**

There's a little boy on a roof.

Away from the outer gate, the crowd's largely dissipated, but clumps of people still line the edges of the canal and wide road, watching and yelling the occasional vulgarity.

Joli watches them, raising a dark eyebrow. Eight months ago, she would've snapped long ago, punched some ignorant old man in the face and dared him to see exactly how sharp his "tax dollars" had made her blades. Today, she carries herself high, without apology, but without insult either. She's learned that it's futile, after all, to try and convince the world of something it adamantly refuses to believe.

A belief like that she, and the rest of the Recon Corps, carry value.

A belief that, with each mounting body, becomes increasingly less convincing.

"Moooooooooooom," the little boy on the roof shouts. His tinny voice carries, impossibly loud and innocent and expectant over their heads. Joli doesn't consider herself particularly maternal, but he's so small and dirty, it tempts her to rappel to his side and lick her thumb and clean his face. " _Mooooooooooooooooom!_ "

His eyes screen every women in a green cape, and his voice soon disappears behind them.

Sophie cries quietly, clutching her barely swollen belly on the cart next to Joli.

"I know," Joli tells her friend. "Kid's cute. But if you really think about it objectively, how wasn't this inevit—"

"Hey, Sophie," Joshua interrupts, giving Joli an unamused look. He places a hand on the side of the cart as he walks, and his bronze hair glints when he leans forward to bring his face closer to that of his sobbing wife. After a moment, she wipes her face with a torn sleeve and reaches over to touch his hand. Her short hair dances on her shoulders as the cart moves, her soft features gradually untwisting under Joshua's touch.

They walk like that, quiet, for so long that it makes Joli's jaw tight. The medic turns her head, letting her horse drift slightly to the right to get away from Sophie and Joshua and their tenderness. Those soft words and looks make her neck tense up and want to draw a blade to protect them, or at least shout in their faces to stop. The world does not treat that kind of vulnerability gently, she's learned. Cruelty targets sensitivity and tears you to pieces until nothing's left but scar tissue. It's much safer to be sarcastic than sincere.

"Sophie, my love," Joshua murmurs in a tone Joli's never heard from him before, a tone that makes her cheeks warm and feel like she's intruding. The lieutenant's so used to her captain's loud laughter and confident humor, it feels like a stranger that's speaking so tenderly. " _It's okay, it's okay_..."

"I'm taking a walk, you old married couple," Joli mutters to no one, ignoring her aching muscles and leading her horse into a brisk pace on foot. She passes a few dozen soldiers, weaving in and out of their tired procession until only Erwin and his surviving tacticians and captains remain in front of her.

It strikes her dully that the parade is so much shorter coming home.

" _Boo, you suck!_ "

A half-heartedly thrown tomato bursts at the cobblestone under her feet. Joli pauses to sweep it aside with her boot. It splashes and sinks into the canal.

" _Look at how few of them there are_..."

Her hair begins to pull at the roots, making her scalp sore. Joli unties her bun, letting dust-covered, rust-colored hair tumble to her waist. _Better_.

"I hear they're heading for Mitras—"

"— _criminals._ It sure took the King long enough to realize how much of a waste—"

"Did that titan brat die?"

"He _died_?"

"I dunno, I was asking _you_ —"

" _Idiots,_ " she coughs, then looks up, startled, at the voice that spoke in tandem next to her.

"Ah," Levi says, seeming mildly surprised for a moment, before turning back to the road. "It's you."

"Captain," Joli greets, blinking. She lets out a breath, slightly relieved at the distraction. "Where've you been these past few hours? It's been far too long."

"It hasn't," Levi replies flatly, but examines her for a moment as if seeing if she's offended. Joli returns with a patient look.

After another few yards, he adds, "Barely enough time for my foot to recover from you 'treating' it."

She seems to brighten at the banter.

"I'll have you know, my bandaging is award-winning in Mitras. The only reason you're walking, no— _alive_ right now is because I wrapped that leg for you. And for _free_ , mind you."

They wordlessly duck as a bucket of unidentifiable liquid splashes at them from the roof of a passing house.

"But if you're displeased with my services," Joli continues coyly, "as a more _permanent_ solution, I'd be more than happy to amputate the entire leg for you. There's no risk of a broken ankle if you don't have a foot, after all."

Levi snorts, pulling his horse away from a man who grabs at any Corps member who comes near and yells in their faces about all the land he's lost and all the people he needs to feed.

"That some sort of shit urban legend?"

She tilts her head at him, hair falling so long down her spine that it makes Levi wonder how much dust must collect among the thick strands. Her gray eyes widen and the mouth opens into a sarcastic bow. "How'd you know?"

Joli quirks her mouth up so he knows she's joking.

"I heard that one in med school from an old kooky professor," she explains, fair face finally starting to relax, "but there's another good one about treating rashes..."

She tapers off, and Levi follows her eyes back beyond the road.

"We're almost out," Joli comments, keeping her tone light. Her hand touches the neck of her horse absentmindedly, the usually confident fingers knotted absently into chestnut mane. "I suppose this is what they call...our home stretch."

The approaching crowd surrounds the inner gate like a clot, ready to throw one last insult before the Corps leaves their city.

"Watch for flying vegetables," he warns flatly as they approach the booing.

"I'm much more susceptible to the verbal abuse," Joli responds brightly, almost forcefully. "They sure make me want to rethink all my life choices."

The Corps enters the fray.

Joli Lieber holds her head up. She cools her expression, shielding herself with the knowledge that public opinion is turbulent. The insults aren't personal. They don't understand how organs feel under gloved hands, or how to resuscitate a stopped heart while riding breakneck pace on the back of a horse-drawn cart, or the ridiculous amount of bleach you need to clean medical cloaks. They don't understand that she needs weeks to fully recover from each expedition. They don't understand her mind, or what she's done to survive. They don't understand that she's lost people too.

"I knew a girl from Karanes once," she tells Levi, posture lofty as she watches the angry crowd.

He wonders briefly if it hurts her neck to hold her head so high all the time.

"I mentored her and some other trainees in our Medic Corps, but they weren't properly trained and were eaten on their first expedition. Really sad, but considering everything, pretty inevitable. I tried to treat a few of them, but there wasn't much left to hold together..."

"Medic," Levi says.

"I'll be honest," Joli whispers to him, peering at the jeering crowd with impervious eyes.

Behind that, though, Levi captures a glint of her hurt in the reluctance with which she meets his eyes again, as if afraid of him knowing that she, despite her pride, is vulnerable to hurt as well. The hurt which is the small, pulsing creature curled right beneath the thin skin of her forehead that moves and writhes only when it's alone with her. The kind that must keep her awake and cause her excruciating pain at night.

Joli laughs overly jauntily at his expression, her sharp jaw that opens with pulleys and gears instead of humor.

"Ironic, isn't it? I've never felt so unwelcome coming back home."

A man spits bitterly in their direction.

"It's okay, you know," Levi says flatly, "to not be okay."

She blinks forward for a moment before turning to him, chin tilted up again and smile wry as if she finds his attempts to console her cute. "I'm alive, you're alive," she explains, a little softer. "The Commander's alive, Joshua and Sophie and their baby are alive. Not the shittiest day ever, I'd say."

Levi watches her gray eyes for a second.

The pupils are firm, barely quivering around the edges. The hurt's disappeared almost completely from her face, suppressed in a purse-lipped smile. Through sheer willpower, the medic's drowned the distress of the last few hours in pride and sass and distractions like this conversation. Joli's not lying when she says she's okay, but Levi can tell she's not being completely truthful either. But she seems to have convinced herself of her own strength, so he lets it go. He's learned that it's futile to try and convince someone of something that they adamantly refuse to believe.

So instead of questioning her further, the captain shrugs noncommittally and turns forward again. "I've seen shittier."

The medic hums in agreement. "We didn't end up dying, which is a win."

"Yeah."

She gestures playfully at Erwin and his straight shoulders. "And the Commander seems as confident as ever."

"Mm."

"Which scares and comforts me at the same time. You know the feeling?"

"Maybe."

A whole block passes in silence between them, filled instead with the tears and spit of hundreds of Karanes residents aimed at them. Joli watches them placidly, observing the faces twisted in grief and hatred and knowing they can't touch her unless she allows them to. On the opposite hand, she notices how Levi always looks straight ahead as he walks, like he's already seen his share of people who hate him and doesn't need the condemnation of any more. The medic and the soldier are simultaneously affected by but invincible to the crowd in their own ways.

After a long while, when the gates of Wall Rose appear over the rooftops, Joli lets out a breath.

"...We could be hanged in three days."

Levi tries his best not to limp even though the numbness and adrenaline of his broken bone is long gone, replaced by pain and a stiffness that he recognizes as a fracture. He remembers that this medic bears the title of Lieutenant, the medic equivalent of Commander-in-Chief. Briefly, Levi narrows his eyes at Erwin's untouchable back. The Commander had better get them the hell out of this mess before Levi sees another corpse. He suddenly pictures the first one in a long line of them: a girl with autumn hair and a bride white coat, choker of rope around her proud neck and strung up right in front of him.

Her gray eyes, wide open.

Joli looks at him expectantly. Levi turns forward.

"We could be."

"Or we could go rogue. Run away."

"You want to spend your whole life running?" he asks listlessly. "They'd hunt you down and gut you like an animal until they find what they're looking for."

She turns to him slightly, hair rustling. Her voice turns coy, but her eyes are serious.

"Not if you keep quiet."

Levi gauges her expression before scoffing. "What do you know about keeping quiet?"

She pauses as if catching herself. "Evidently nothing. I do talk too much, don't I?"

Her eyes, as always, betray her.

She's an awful liar.

Joli coughs once. "So we won't run. Who knows what'll happen to us now though, Captain. I suppose this is a situation that calls for Erwin's 'shit-covered hands'."

"...What do you mean?"

"This," Joli gestures to the jeering crowd, dark in the shadow of the approaching gates of Wall Rose. After what feels like an eternity, they're finally leaving Karanes.

"We're to be tried in Mitras in three days," the medic muses. "We've lost more members physically and mentally today than in the last few expeditions combined. Public opinion, low before, hit rock bottom from the moment we reentered Wall Maria. We failed to capture the female titan. The Recon Corps is on indefinite suspension starting today."

And despite the circumstances, Joli's chin quirks up, the familiar and impervious smile back across her lips.

"But you know what, Captain? We're few, but not easy. And I don't have faith in many things, but the Commander fights for us no matter what. Just look at that broad back. Seems untouchable, doesn't it? He must be planning already, digging elbow-deep through this mess to look for something."

Levi turns to her, and she watches the dull blue eyes rove over her face. "...And what the fuck would that be?"

"I don't know," Joli smiles pleasantly. She stretches her arms up, the white coat bunching around her hips as her hands spread across the sky. Her gray eyes close, briefly, before finding him again. And under her easy gaze, for the first time in a while, Levi feels his muscles start to untangle.

Joli laughs at his expression.

"I don't know," she admits again, humming. "But wouldn't it be great to survive long enough to find out?"

* * *

A transcript of Joli Lieber's citizenship card (with author's commentary in parentheses):

 **Name** : Joli Ilse Lieber

 **Birthday** : January 2, 825

 **Age** : 25 (and a quarter)

 **Height** : 155 cm (the perfect height to kick where it hurts)

 **Weight** : 46 kg (the perfect weight to maximize 3DMG mobility)

 **Eye color** : gray (Referred to both as 'steely' and 'warm and alive like ashes', Joli's eye color fluctuates greatly depending on her mood. They have been described as 'impossibly perceptive' by her patients and 'occasionally creepy' by Sophie.)

 **Hair color** : brown (More romantically detailed as a 'burnt auburn', Joshua teases Joli often about how long her hair is. To shut him up, Joli leaves out her long bangs and ties the rest of her thick hair into a loose bun when she's on the field. In a completely unrelated matter, Joshua prefers short-haired women.)

 **Occupation** : Recon Corps field medic (Despite her age, Head Medic Joshua Ziegler selected Joli as Lieutenant only three months after she joined the Corps. Her three years of training at the Royal Academy and year of internship Underground set her above the other medics in both experience and technical skill.)

 **City of residence** : Mitras (However, Joli's apartment has been empty for so long that the cleaning lady took it upon herself to dust sheet all of the furniture. This was two years ago.)

( **General appearance** : fit enough to outmaneuver titans using 3DMG, pretty enough to get hit on by scumbags in bars, young-looking enough to still elicit concern from other adults when she's out by herself

 **Habits** : restlessly moving her hands (she could really use a fidget spinner), practicing perfect posture to compensate for her petite size

 **Hobbies** : bathing, organizing, knitting socks, reading medical journals to satisfy the morbid fascination with modern surgical techniques that she inherited from Steven

 **Awful at** : lying, drinking, expressing condolences

 **Can't say no to** : banter, another round of alcoholic beverages, Sophie's unborn child

 **Favorite color** : unknown

 **Family** : unknown

 **Criminal record** : unknown)


	5. The Things We Fight For

**Hello, friends.**

 **Please let me explain why I'm so late at updating. It's a good excuse, I promise.**

 **This month, I faced some mild writer's block trying to develop Joli's character in this chapter. Yes, Joli Lieber manages to confuse even her own author sometimes. I'm still figuring out her motives (or lack of motives? nihilism?) and all the little things that make Joli complex and believable.**

 **Thanks always for your patience and support!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own _SnK._ Duh.**

* * *

 ** _Previously:_**

 _"...I don't have faith in many things, but the Commander fights for us no matter what. Just look at that broad back. Seems untouchable, doesn't it? He must be planning already, digging elbow-deep through this mess to look for something."_

 _Levi turns to her, and she watches the dull blue eyes rove over her face. "...And what the fuck would that be?"_

 _"I don't know," Joli smiles pleasantly. She stretches her arms up, the white coat bunching around her hips as her hands spread across the sky. Her gray eyes close, briefly, before finding him again. And under her easy gaze, for the first time in a while, Levi feels his muscles start to untangle._

 _Joli laughs at his expression._

 _"I don't know," she admits again, humming. "But wouldn't it be great to survive long enough to find out?"_

* * *

 **Year 850, Former HQ of the Recon Corps**

 **Captain Levi**

The meeting begins, like most Corps meetings, with urgency.

"We'll forego the pleasantries," Erwin says.

His crystal blue eyes seem to focus impossibly on Levi and the remains of the Corps all at once. His face flickers in the light of the torches around the small conference room, casting lurid darkness into the hollows of his eyes and under his jaw. It's the face of a man who's seen too much. On the Commander, however, the look doesn't make Erwin appear any older—only decades wiser, like tragedy somehow doesn't affect him anymore. Levi wonders if he should find Erwin's apathy terrifying or comforting.

"There's a good chance that I and many of you, captains and remaining members, will be executed by the Royal government two days from now," Erwin states without flinching. "Aside from the Captains, all other Corps members were officially dismissed as of this evening. If any of you Captains wish to spend your last few days with your family, no one will stop you. I'm willing to take personal responsibility for ignoring a Royal Summoning on your behalf."

The Commander shifts, and Levi almost shakes his head at Erwin's purposeful nobility. Even in a shitty situation like this, the Commander still tries to appeal to them, looking to and strengthen his allies. Out of the corner of his eye, Levi watches a few members look around at one another, nervous, unsure of what to do.

"However," the Commander continues, pausing purposefully to look at each of them. "If you wish to finish one last mission for the Corps—one to save our very cause and many of your comrades' lives, please stay and listen until the end."

No one moves.

The ten captains summoned in the King's letter sit around the table in varied states of exhaustion. Another half dozen soldiers linger, remaining even after the Commander's grim dismissal of the Recon Corps upon arrival at HQ hours ago. Those soldiers stand, shrouded in shadows along the walls of the conference room. They've changed out of their uniforms, donning the leftover, ill-fitting clothes dug up from storage.

Among the soldiers, Levi counts a handful of Eren's friends, including the timid boy with light hair and the stone-faced girl that seemed fiercely against leaving Eren alone in the cafeteria after being pulled into this meeting ten minutes ago.

Who Levi _doesn't_ see is Joli Lieber, or most of the other field medics. He feels strangely calmed to know that despite her posturing, the Lieutenant Medic isn't important enough to be summoned into Mitras. Surely she left with the dismissal. The girl was probably home by now, wherever that was, making some sarcastic comment to an unfortunate, unsuspecting bystander. At least Joli Lieber made it out unharmed. At least.

"Thank you for your service," the Commander nods after a period in which no one moves to leave. The silence is grim, heavy.

"These are unfortunate times for the Recon Corps," Erwin continues, and someone behind Levi snorts at the understatement. The Commander ignores it. "Since all of you seem to keep your faith in the Corps, I'll reveal the true objective for the expedition today and, eventually..."

Levi follows Erwin's eyes as they gaze towards Eren's fair-haired friend Armin, who shifts uncertainly from where he stands by the door.

"...our plan of commencement," the Commander finishes. When he straightens his shoulders, Erwin's blonde hair suddenly seems brighter in the candlelight, richer somehow. "I do not intend the Recon Corps to fall apart due to this expedition," he says sternly. "I dedicated my life to humanity and won't be resigned to the folly of a corrupt design."

The words echo, reverberating back a hint of curiosity and fear from the members that Levi knows Erwin thrives on. The Commander draws the intrigue out from even the most reluctant of listeners, manipulating their hope and despair into something more powerful than words should be able to create. Erwin makes people act his way, without use of weapons or threats—only words. To Levi, this is the most necessary yet most frightening part of the Commander of the Recon Corps.

The captain considers his own first expedition outside the walls and the vision in Erwin's eyes as the rain cleared over his teammates' bodies. Even then, the Commander lived as if looking at something Levi felt unable to attain or even understand. The vision drew Levi in despite himself. And he's followed and despised Erwin from that day because of it.

Abruptly, a low voice interrupts from the other side of the table.

"I dunno about everyone else," the man interjects, and when he turns around, Levi recognizes him as the Head Medic. Joshua Ziegler scratches his head casually, bronze hair sticking out at his ears like an uneven haircut. His face looks relaxed, but the dark brown eyes are alert, observing.

"With all due respect, Commander," Joshua states matter-of-factly, "for me, my staying here is less of an act of 'faith in the Corps' than a desire not to be strung up myself."

The medic leans forward to stares straight across at the Commander, one dark eyebrow lifting in a way that a few captains around him scoff at. Levi notices that the Joshua Ziegler wears the expression of someone long immune to Erwin's rhetorical magic—above the herd in one perspective, but more vulnerable because of it.

Levi watches Joshua carefully, arms folded.

"I don't meaning to be a downer on the whole 'heroic last stand of the Recon Corps' idea," the medic continues, voice loud in the dense air. "I'm also not a fan of treason or slicing people up. Medics don't even have blades, you must remember. It's a hard life. But if you, our esteemed Commander, could so helpfully suggest a way to evade civil punishment that _doesn't_ include running from the government or spending our few last sad days with our families before committing mass suicide," Joshua concludes neatly. "Yeah, that'd be great."

There's a muffled sound as Hange sets her fist on the table, hand shaking like she's restraining herself from hitting him.

"Are all you medics this disrespectful?" she demands. "You—you _egotist_ —don't you think we're all asking ourselves the exact same thing?!"

 _Yes, Hange_ , Levi wants to answer her. He considers the girl with the quick, infuriatingly noncommittal way of speaking. _Yes, they really are all like this._

"Hange," Erwin says sternly, and she bristles. "Enough."

It's not a request.

Erwin turns to face Joshua. "I understand your concerns, Medic Ziegler. However, as of right now, there doesn't seem to be any obviously advantageous option for us. I ask you to bear with the uncertainty for a little while longer."

Under the level, cool gaze, Joshua eventually nods and leans back into his chair, suddenly stiff.

"However, another possible course of action may have appeared," the Commander continues, addressing them all. "One that may not include mass suicide."

Erwin pauses. The Head Medic coughs uncomfortably and crosses his arms.

"In fact," Erwin starts again, voice growing stronger. His blue eyes brighten with an elation Levi's critical of but finds compelling at the same time. "In fact, if we adopt this plan and understand and perform our duties to the best of our abilities, perhaps...even no one dies."

The captains shift in their seats, and a few soldiers along the walls murmur to one another. It's a bold claim, given the Corps' prior experience with death counts. Levi refolds his arms and scrutinizes Erwin's seemingly seamless expression, considering for the millionth time what the Commander must be thinking of inside that impersonal, mechanical brain of his.

Erwin lifts an arm. "I invite one of the members of the 104th Training Corps, Armin Arlert, to explain some crucial details of our plan of action."

Said boy freezes slightly under the sudden stares, then begins stumbling towards the head of the table.

"What he has to say," Erwin finishes seriously, "may prove key to reviving the Recon Corps and even finally capturing the Female Titan."

"He's just a kid," a captain murmurs, but shuts up when he's elbowed in the ribs.

Armin walks stiffly to the head of the table, standing comically small next to the Commander.

"H-hello," the boy starts, then coughs as if to remove the stutter. "I'm Armin Arlert. Like Commander Erwin mentioned, I may be able to...clarify some facts about the female titan. I also believe..." Armin looks to the girl, Mikasa, for assurance, and when she nods once, he swallows.

"...I may have discovered the identity of the Female Titan," Armin continues, high voice steadier as he continues.

The members listen seriously, a few still dubious but not daring to speak.

"Her name is Annie Leonhardt, a member of the Military Police and previous cadet in the 104th Training Corps. I have a plan to infiltrate Stohess and capture her, which involves all of you. We'll trick her by using Eren to lead her into a trap—we'll have to evacuate the citizens first, of course, and take her down before she can transform. We need to discuss the logistics further, but overall, this is the plan of action. And like Commander Erwin said," Armin states, eyes suddenly firm, less tentative as they move around the conference room.

When it meets him, the soldier's gaze surprises Levi with its surety. His firm expression holds a charisma as intense but somehow fundamentally gentler that of Erwin's, and Levi briefly considers the similarities between the two. The captain also notes the satisfied look on Erwin's face as Armin Arlert speaks, as if the Commander already approves of the boy's leadership and his ability to turn words into violence and hope and action.

"If we perform this well," Armin continues, and the boy's blue eyes brighten with something Levi can't attain or understand. "If we perform this well, maybe...no one has to die."

* * *

 **Year 850, Former HQ of the Recon Corps**

 **Medic Joli**

"Hey," Joli calls to the titan boy. She gestures at the basket of blood-stained cloaks at her hip. "You wanna help me do laundry?"

Eren Jaeger turns to her slowly.

His tunic envelopes him, the pale fabric torn and crusty with grime. The boy's young face looks pale in the torchlight, almost sick and in stark contrast with the inky hair that slices across his forehead. His round eyes flicker as they look up at her, green orbs laced with red from lack of sleep and swollen from sobbing hours ago. The eyes of a boy who's seen too much.

And despite herself, Joli softens. Something about this boy makes her restrict the usual sarcastic bite of her words, like his seriousness sobers her up.

"If not, no problem," the medic shrugs, taking her hand back. She reaches up instead to tuck a strand of long hair behind one ear. "I'm just restless, I guess. It's two in the morning, and I couldn't really sleep anyway."

Eren looks back at the door. His fingers knot themselves on the table he sits at in the old cafeteria, alone. When he speaks, his lips look parched, hesitant. "...I...it's just that..."

"If you're waiting for the Commander, it's a little known secret that he never sleeps," Joli quips, trying to inspire some sort of response. When he barely nods, she tilts her head in his direction and readjusts the soft whicker basket beneath her arm.

After dinner last night, the Lieutenant medic volunteered to collect all the captains' linens and cloaks for washing in the morning. But when she tried to sleep, the stench of spoiled cotton and titan and human blood and rancid sweat kept her awake, even after Joli pushed the old basket far from her bedroll. Alone and restless, she stripped her own filthy uniform off and pulled on the clean tunic and skirt left for her, deciding this business could not wait until morning. The new clothes were too large on Joli and smelled like mothballs, but at least the outfit was clean.

"But in all seriousness, kid," Joli continues, pushing a loose sleeve up to her elbow, "the Commander loves to take his sweet time strategizing. I, as the lowly Lieutenant Medic, am almost never invited to these meetings. Thank god."

"We're the only ones left," Eren points out, looking around the empty cafeteria slowly as if making sure. "The Commander's speaking with the captains and everyone else. We're the only ones left of the Recon Corps."

"Like I said," Joli tells him lightly. "I, as the lowly Lieutenant Medic, am almost never invited to these meetings."

Eren blinks at her, then realizes.

"You weren't summoned by the King."

She smiles slightly, seeming amused. "And you weren't summoned by the Commander. Feels bad not being included, doesn't it?"

"Why're you still here?" Eren asks suddenly. He leans forward, tired eyes widening. "Don't you know what's going to happen to us in Mitras? And if they find you helping us—"

"Who says I'm going to help you?" she responds easily, sliding the basket onto the floor and taking the seat across from him. Her hands fold themselves on the table in front of her.

"I happen to live in Mitras," Joli tells him, chin tilted up like she's waited her entire life to answer this. "It's much more pleasant travelling with company. And why would I help you anyway? Assisting convicts is a crime, kid. Acting contrary to the King is a crime. Speaking blasphemy is a crime, subversion is a crime, eating too much is a crime. I want a nice meal for once. You don't get nice meals in jail, or when you're hanging."

Her voice is so level, Eren doesn't realize the sarcasm until her gray eyes meet his, cynical and seeming long since resigned to it. The eyes crinkle into a polite smile.

"You're Eren Jaeger, right?" the woman says.

He nods slightly. "Yeah."

"Joli." She extends a hand across the table. Eren looks at it for a moment before remembering to take it.

"Ah...hi."

"Hi."

The medic peers at him expectantly, her eyes clear and curious despite the late hour. Under her absorbing gaze, Eren suddenly becomes aware of all his faults: of the pale scar on his upper lip from falling when he was a child, the slight burn from the sun on his nose and cheeks, the dirt and sweat dried around his temples and across his upper lip. Eren abruptly remembers that kid in Karanes too, the one who shouted out to the Corps as heroes because that boy on the streets was too young to know what it's _really_ like, dying and, even more terrifying, surviving. Eren remembers the hot, crawling tears down his own cheeks as he lay on the back of that hard cart, and he wonders for one delirious moment if this unblinking woman can see that too.

Joli watches him flinch slightly in discomfort, and she stifles the urge to treat him like a patient and order him to sit still so she can get a good look at him. The lieutenant's seen Eren only once before, briefly, when Erwin introduced him to the Corps the day before the expedition.

" _Humanity's greatest weapon_ ," the Commander called him, ignoring the blanket of whispers that immediately rose from the members. " _The first discovered titan shifter. Our path to victory_."

A lofty title. Joli doesn't blame the boy for not measuring up now.

From further away Eren seemed young but firm, with a strong voice and respectable salute. From this close, Joli tries to remember all the rumors and picture the boy in front of her as a titan.

But Eren's dark hair falls to his ears, matted and short, not loose and sweeping his shoulders like the members described. He's a few centimeters taller than Joli but doesn't even compare to a 15-meter class titan. She can't see any evidence of the notorious bite marks on his hands that induce the titan state, or the dark, residual veins around his eyes that indicate a recent transformation.

In reality, Eren Jaeger sits, elbows close, shoulders slouched, and eyes exhausted. In need of a warm bath, something warm to eat, and someone to fuss over him.

In other words, he looks just like a regular kid.

The medic leans back in her chair, finally breaking her eyes away. Eren lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. And they sit in the quiet for a moment, the stillness hovering between them like something mutually understood.

Joli doesn't strike Eren as the type to stay still for too long, and sure enough, she soon sighs. Her neck tilts to the ceiling when she leans back in the creaky chair. When she tilts her head slightly to look at him, the long dark hair falls over one shoulder.

"Waiting sure is exciting, isn't it?" she yawns.

Eren pauses before opening his mouth, as if still unsure of how to speak to her. "I guess so."

"How long's the Commander been in there?"

"A few hours, I think." He rubs his forehead as if alleviating pressure. "We got here around eight last night, and I haven't really seen anyone around since dinner..."

"And you've been here ever since," Joli finishes dryly. Her finger trails a whorl on the wooden table before reaching up to tug a strand of bangs from her face. Eren watches those hands, always moving, and he wonders if they're restless even when she's asleep.

"That takes the sort of patience and commitment I'll never possess, kid." The medic yawns again into the shoulder of her blouse. "And lying alone upstairs, I thought _I_ was bored."

Eren chuckles slightly, less nervously. He looks at her fully, tentative. "I'm not bored. Just...thinking."

Joli gives him a brief look of curiosity, but, unable to resist another opportunity to tease him, she settles back onto four legs of her chair and clicks her tongue in his direction.

"It's never good to think too much after an expedition," Joli advises, refolding her hands primly. She lifts one quick finger. "My advice: don't think too much, kid. You'll get anxiety and shit. Trust me: I'm a medic."

He laughs, slightly easier this time.

"I'll try not to," Eren promises.

But in the space between the conversation, all Eren can think of suddenly is Petra and Uluo and Guenther and Eld and how they each died around him, one after the other, each too quickly for him to realize exactly how quickly until now. They all were murdered in a time frame of less than a minute.

Crushed, hung, split open like dolls full of sand. Eren's hand finds his middle, fumbling suddenly to make sure the skin's unbroken, organs not pushing out.

"You know, we've all lost people," Joli says, bringing the boy out of his stupor like she can sense him thinking about it. She watches him intently, and slowly, his hand falls back to his side. "People we cared about...not just random people we heard of or kind-of knew or saw this-one-time-in-Mitras buying melons. I mean really _cared about_."

"That means you've...lost people too," Eren says, eyes startled but sad in a way that makes Joli want to take her words back, to protect his innocence.

"I mean," he explains quickly, suddenly afraid of offending her. "You just don't...seem like the type."

Joli almost smirks. She already knows that regardless of whatever standard "the type" is, she doesn't fit it. The Lieutenant medic holds herself straight in a way that's almost too confident, eyes the color of crumbling ashes that contain only introspection—no hint of regret or loss. She strikes Eren as the type of woman who hasn't been struck down yet by the world, the type of woman whom Keith Shadis would unashamedly humiliate as a trainee for her impervious attitude and lofty posture.

"The type," Joli echoes, tilting her head at him intently. "You mean, because I don't act all neurotic and haunted all the time, it doesn't seem like I know what it feels like, to lose someone?"

"I'm sorry," Eren says automatically, and she watches him struggle for the words. "It's just...you can never tell, can you?"

Joli examines him for a moment, noting how the sincerity in his eyes and voice tries to touch her and fails. But she still appreciates the effort, so the medic just shrugs in response.

"It's okay, kid," Joli tells him lightly. She places one elbow against the table, the slim hand folding under her chin in a way that looks practiced and tired. "Grief's a strange thing. It's hard to isolate in people, since we all feel it differently. I've seen it kill some, motivate others."

The medic pauses, her gray eyes flickering over Eren's face. She's heard his origin story before and read about the fall of Shiganishina when the news came Underground years ago.

To Joli, Eren Jaeger seems like the type of boy who takes his grief and fuels it into passion, into a cause. His dream is clear in the blazing green in his eyes, the certain and unapologetic way Eren holds his head up. Almost immediately, Joli sees that Eren strives for his goal without qualms, unafraid of showing the world how much he wants to succeed.

And for that, Joli feels almost disappointed in him. A boy who's lost this much should know better than to be optimistic.

But the medic doesn't feel like chastising anyone on the vices of vulnerability tonight, so she just sighs and continues.

"When I was a trainee," she says, head tilting in her palm, "I rode with this other newbie on her first expedition. She was a soldier assigned to assist the medics inside the formation. Cute girl, had a cute name—forgot what it was. Anyway, this was a girl who kept talking about 're-conquering the Walls' and 'expanding humanity's frontier'—you know, the Commander's standard rhetoric and shit—but I could tell she was just trying to comfort herself. Well, when we saw our first titan break into our ranks, she got scared. If you haven't noticed yet, we medics are pretty useless in combat, so one of our other soldiers lined himself up for the kill, but before he reached the nape, that girl...she just...stopped her horse. Didn't even scream. Her face looked white—full of some twisted relief...like she'd been struggling forever to reach that moment—"

"Joli," Eren interrupts tentatively. When she glances back up, the boy looks uneasy. "Are you...okay?"

"People keep asking me that," Joli responds, eyes blinking like the shutters of a motion picture. A slight smile breaks her placid face, like the medic's amused that she's managed to startle herself with the story.

"Pardon my word vomit," she says. "I guess I'm not used to people listening to me for so long. Or maybe this is the neurosis finally coming out."

There's a moment of hesitation, as if Eren considers asking her more. But she gives him a blank expression and he seems to think better of it.

"It's the neurosis," Eren eventually agrees. He cracks a smile. "Otherwise, why would you still be here, helping us with the laundry?"

She looks at him with a newfound appreciation.

"You're a cheeky kid, you know that?"

Joli flicks the whicker basket. "And didn't I tell you—helping convicts, even just with the laundry, is still a crime. I'm just an ex-Corps member now, unemployed and aimless, another part of the parade home."

He laughs a little. "So you've said."

She laughs also, but leans forward until the loose fabric of her tunic spills across the edge of the table. Her gray eyes search Eren's with a hint of satisfaction, like the medic's shared a code word with him that only they understand. It's a rare moment of Joli's sincerity, and she briefly hopes that this obnoxiously ambitious, dangerously hopeful boy is listening. Because despite her distaste towards optimistic people, somewhere inside her, Joli wants to see Eren succeed.

Joli recognizes that at his core, Eren Jaeger follows his own vision. The boy refuses to play pawn in someone else's corrupt design, which makes him a rarity. At least he follows his own vision. At least.

And for that, the medic values him higher than most.

"If, for whatever reason, you ever find yourself in need of my assistance," Joli continues, voice unceasingly passive but eyes probing and serious, "I'm here to help you. As a citizen of humanity, not the King. God knows how many souls this monarchy's burned."

His startled expression wonders whether or not she's one of them.

Before Eren can open his mouth to ask, Joli stands up and smiles cordially. Her lips part, unfurling like an innocuously blank flag. The quick hands find the whicker basket again, pressing it against the hip of her long black skirt.

"Rain check on the laundry then, kid," Joli tells him, one hand waving him a carefree goodbye. "As of now then, we owe each other no favors. But if you ever need something stitched up or doped with morphine, I'm around. Just something to keep in mind."

* * *

 **Preview for next chapter:**

The girl at the door looks at Levi for affirmation, and smiles faintly at his expression. Gently. In a way that calms and unsettles him at the same time.

"I'm Joli," she introduces. "Please, come inside."

 **Review?**


	6. That Peace of Hers

**So. _So._**

 **After reading the absolute mind explosions that are chapters 85 and 86 of _SnK,_ I felt suddenly inspired to post a new chapter. Thank you all for your continued patience (school is suddenly so hard, who knew), but writing and hearing back from you all makes the struggle slightly more manageable.**

 **Hope you enjoy the chapter!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own _SnK._ Duh.**

* * *

 _ **Previously:**_

 _"If, for whatever reason, you ever find yourself in need of my assistance," Joli continues, voice unceasingly passive but eyes probing and serious, "I'm here to help you. As a citizen of humanity, not the King. God knows how many souls this monarchy's burned."_

 _His startled expression wonders whether or not she's one of them..._

 _"Rain check on the laundry then, kid," Joli tells him, one hand waving him a carefree goodbye. "As of now then, we owe each other no favors. But if you ever need something stitched up or doped with morphine, I'm around. Just something to keep in mind."_

* * *

 **Year 844, the Underground District**

 **Levi**

The girl who opens the clinic door seems unperturbed by the masks covering most of their faces, like she's used to seeing people who prefer not being recognized.

The door opens on Farlan's second round of tentative knocking.

A young woman appears in the sliver of space, peering around the worn frame. Her quick gray gaze sweeps over them, flitting across Isabel's defiant expression and Farlan's mask. She wears a simple white coat that envelops her slim frame, a gentle curtain of thick hair swept across her forehead. When her eyes meet Levi's in the flickering lamplight, he sees that she's young, eager, pretty in a collected but carefree way.

He feels her eyes trace the lines of his hard eyes, the suffocating woolen fabric wrapped over his nose and mouth. Even though it's impossible to tell, the patience in this girl's gaze seems to imply omniscience, as if she even sees the shape of the knife he keeps fastened against his hip. And despite himself, Levi stiffens under her gaze, turning aside to survey the alleyway by them.

Her gray gaze possesses a surreally insular quality, seeming to absorb all his suspicion and seriousness—all the things he's done and what he's here for, the way he grew up and the extent of his fixation with cleanliness—all of this in only an instant, found so easily by her who simply blinks once in his direction.

He can't tell if she means to feel this probing, or if this girl's simply too naïve to realize you can get stabbed by looking at someone like that Underground.

"Who's ill?" she finally asks. She opens the door another few generous degrees, allowing the soft light from inside to cast her shadow across their chests. Her voice is unobtrusive, and the ends of her words lilt in the characteristically clipped way Topside people usually speak.

"The doctors are out of commission, I'm afraid," she says. "But if it's not an emergency, I could possibly be of some assistance."

She touches the lapel of her crisp white coat seemingly subconsciously: a coat so clean Levi can't help but stare at the fabric, wondering how new it must be.

"Oh, not an emergency," Isabel chirps, voice slightly muffled with congestion and her wool mask. "I'm sick, and these pushovers insist on dragging me here. I'm Ingrid." She gestures to Levi. "My bro, Luca." Her hand smacks Farlan carelessly in the chest, and Levi almost rolls his eyes at Isabel's poorly-contained laughter. Her eyes sparkle like she's relishing the silence before a punch line.

"And this is... _Rob_."

Farlan shakes her head at her slightly, almost disappointed.

The girl at the door looks at Levi for affirmation before smiling faintly at his humorless expression.

Gently. In a way that unsettles but calms him at the same time.

"Nice to meet you," she smiles.

She seems to do that often.

"I'm Joli. Please, come inside."

"What the hell kind of name is Rob?" Farlan whispers to Isabel as they follow.

"It's _ironic_ ," she whispers back, green eyes rolling up the meet Levi's like they share some hilarious joke. Levi looks down at her, suppressing the urge to flick her in the forehead. Not seeming to notice, Isabel looks back at Farlan, deliberately, slowly.

"Cause we're _robbers_ , Rob." She punches him in the stomach then coughs piteously into her fist when he raises a hand to muss up her hair. "You get it, right?"

Joli gestures to a few chairs pressed against the wall then scoots behind a dense tile counter. Isabel leads them further into the small office, eyeing the clean wooden floors with curiosity and caution. The girl in the white coat reappears with a clipboard, laying it on the tiled desk expectantly. Farlan and Isabel fuss lowly over whether or not the fern in the corner is real or not, so Levi receives it instead.

"Please fill these out for our records," Joli requests, leaning over the counter to flip a few of the pages in his hands.

Everything about the girl seems soft, Levi notices. Soft eyes, soft mouth, soft lines of her shoulders to fingertips. Even the knobs of her elbows are somehow soft.

"Patient information, medical history, vaccinations—all very standard," Joli details. "They don't, of course, need to be _legally_ accurate, so if there's a privacy issue or any undocumented wounds from illicit activity or the sort..."

She glances up at his expression, like the girl expects him to suddenly whip out an open bullet wound. Levi doesn't respond, and, finding nothing, her gray eyes blink neatly and fall back onto the paper. "All we need is a record on file, for if you ever need to come back."

Joli offers Levi another quick smile, then seems to correct herself. She tries to look serious, an expression that seems out-of-place on her bright face like someone's broken the pretty features and tried to rearrange them.

"Of course," Joli continues soberly, "god forbid that be the case."

He accepts the directions with a nod in thanks. Levi turns to where his friends wait on the sturdy wooden chairs and drops the clipboard into Isabel's lap.

"Why do _I_ gotta do it?" Isabel complains, sitting up and scratching the root of one magenta ponytail. "You _know_ I'm not good at reading."

"Just do it like I taught you, idiot," Levi mutters. He crosses his arms and turns to watch the clinic door. "Sound the words out. Just be quiet."

Outside, the lamps buzz along the empty alleyway. Briefly, Levi wonders how long this appointment will take.

Tomorrow evening, they're expecting a job for Boss Sigmund, the crime mogul ruling Districts 8 through 11. Levi narrows his eyes just thinking about the man. Affluent enough to live Topside but preferring to prosper in the corrupt dankness of the Underground, Boss Sigmund founded his original business nearly a decade ago in prostitution before slowly taking over other street side dealings: drugs, black market goods, smuggled firearms and weapons of the sort.

Sigmund, for all his notoriety, is surprisingly hard to meet in person. Farlan believes a man with many enemies naturally keeps his face hidden. Isabel theorizes Sigmund is so ugly, he can't expose his face for shame. So to their surprise, the polite letter arrived at Levi's door yesterday, requesting his party's presence at the Sigmund residence to talk business. Dictated on behalf of and signed by Boss Sigmund. An escort would arrive in exactly one week.

Levi remembers their last dealing with Boss Sigmund fourteen months ago. After receiving a polite letter, he and Farlan robbed the house of an Underground official. Levi delivered the locked safe to some lackey of Boss the next morning with no questions asked. In return, Isabel received her first set of 3DMG, the buckles slightly worn but everything still functional.

With Sigmund, a job is always quid pro quo: an exchange that Levi can appreciate. Money is too easy Underground to really hold value. What Levi's team always needs are supplies, tools to repair their gear, new weapons, sterile equipment and medication—tricky things to find at a high quality Underground. Already Levi has a bargain list prepared for the job Boss Sigmund would assign tomorrow; whatever the job is, Levi hopes it merits some replacement body straps for Farlan's 3DMG and a new set of knives.

Farlan helps Isabel fill out the section on medical history and Levi turns around, leaning carefully against the wall. If she's better tomorrow, Isabel will serve as their backup outside whatever their target. She's reckless, but, as Farlan and Levi begrudgingly admit, the quickest and best with improvising using just a knife and 3DMG.

There's a noise from the corner as a drawer slides open, and it sounds so much like the drag of a blade over stone, Levi turns to it quickly.

But behind the counter, the girl Joli opens a rusty filing cabinet with hands that look as if they've never curled into an aggressive fist once in her life. She files the stacks of disheveled pages piled onto the counter, her mouth outlining the names and fake names of the hundreds of citizens that flood into this very waiting room each day before she sorts their paperwork into their correct places.

Levi allows himself to relax, slightly. He considers the girl with a twinge of curiosity.

Joli can't be older than eighteen but doesn't belong to a man or a brothel. Levi guesses with a taste of familiar cynicism that this girl is one of the rare types who had the opportunity to enjoy her childhood, climbing trees Topside and folding paper and doing whatever activities fill a childhood: surely not stealing and fighting for a meal, surely not killing a man at age twelve, surely not that.

But, nonetheless, despite Joli's sunny, sheltered complexion and the fine quality of her Topside-made laced boots, here she volunteers in the darkest slums found within Walls. And the strangest thing to Levi is that the girl even seems _glad_ for it.

She moves with a satisfied disposition that contrasts starkly against his own suspicious nature, like rich ink against bleached white cloth. Joli sorts papers as if the menial task is the most compelling work in the world. The tired, soft spots under her eyes contrast with the calm eagerness of her expression, like she's struggled for a long time to be here, filing paperwork at midnight in a free clinic Underground.

And that foolish peace of hers, Levi knows, he will never understand.

"Done," Isabel suddenly cheers, tearing the pages out of Farlan's hands the moment his pen leaves the paper. She jumps to the counter, slamming them down with a force that billows the sheets of Joli's organized piles. "Done, done, done, thank god. It's _done_."

The girl in the white coat glances at the forms briefly before nodding.

"Great," she smiles, once again, brushing strands of dark hair out of her face. "Let's get started. Clinic rules allow only two people in the exam room at the same time. Ingrid, who'd you like to accompany you? Or would you prefer me to see you alone?"

"Luca-bro," Isabel says automatically, and when she looks back at him, Levi sees the seeds of worry begin to color the core of her bright eyes. And even though he wants to flick Isabel in the forehead and point out that between knife fights and burglarizing, she has nothing to fear from this young nurse, Levi just readjusts his mask and exchanges a nod with Farlan to wait for them.

"Sure," Levi says tonelessly, placing a rough hand on Isabel's hair.

Joli Lieber smiles faintly in their direction, and Levi tries to ignore it. He averts his gaze, somewhat perturbed by the soft watchfulness contained in her gray eyes. He clears his throat and drops his hair from Isabel's head.

"It's late," he states flatly. "Let's go."

* * *

 **Year 850, Former Recon Corps HQ**

 **Medic Joli**

The Lieutenant medic's stirring the laundry when Joshua tackles her from behind.

Joli crouches by an old porcelain tub by the well, boots shifting against the cool grass. For the first time in what's felt like a while, everything—from the occasional whinny of a horse in the nearby stables to the crickets calling around her to the rustling of leaves over the old stone stairs leading back to the castle—sounds incredibly still. White medic cloaks swim lazily in graying, red-tinted water like circling coy fish. Chemical smells drift up from the dirty surface, numbing her nose. Joli's gloved hand swirls the laundry absentmindedly through cool, bleached water.

She never expected to feel so solemn upon the disbanding of the Recon Corps. It hasn't felt exactly like home to her in the last eight months, but Joli supposes the familiarity of the Corps and all its faces and broken bodies she's come to recognize come the closest to warmness she's experienced in a long time.

The medic lets out a long breath and watches the warm air puff into a little cloud before dissolving in the autumnal night. Joli figures the meeting must be over by now.

She ducks her head back over the tub and wonders if it was wrong of her not to go.

 _Spineless_ , Joli chides herself miserably, scrubbing a stained cloak with renewed vigor. She tilts her chin up and frowns defiantly at no one, the pale lips pressing into a frustrated line. _Whose cause is the Recon Corps anyway? I'm no martyr. I want to live, to live, to live..._

But despite her self-justification, Joli suddenly lets out a groan. Her forehead presses against the lip of the basin, burgundy hair sticking to wet porcelain. A tiny voice of guilt berates Joli for her cowardice, for her disloyalty and comforting sense of self-preservation and easy abandonment of Joshua and the Commander and the captains.

Pushing aside the guilt, Joli briefly considers what would happen _after_ the execution, if she left and never looked back. She gives a derisive bark of laughter at the short-lived fantasy. If the Corps disbanded, she could never return to Mitras. Her family, surely, wouldn't welcome her after four years of antagonistic silence. The Royal Academy blacklisted her ages ago. Joli couldn't even return Underground, not after so long, not after Vernon—

She suddenly looks back down into the tub.

The water trembles, ripples scattering away from her shivering hands. Joli frowns, pressing her fingers into fists and submerging them deeper into the cool, stinging water until liquid fills her gloves. The hands slowly, finally loosen.

She drags them out, peeling off the wet gloves irritably and throwing them onto the side of the tub. This is what she gets, the medic reminds herself sternly, for getting emotional.

She takes a breath.

" _Joli,_ " Joshua suddenly whispers into her ear, wrapping quick arms around her shoulders. She gasps in response and her elbow reflexively shoots back into his ribcage.

By the time Joli catches her breath completely, Joshua's still recovering.

"And you say you're not a soldier," he gasps, rubbing his chest with amazement and resentment. "Reflexes like a feline. I suppose that's what I should expect...oh geez, what if you _broke_ something..."

She smiles slightly, absently.

Seeing Joshua now, in mock pain, makes her think of Sophie in _real_ pain, makes her think of Eren Jaeger and the Commander and the raven-haired captain—makes her think of them hanging two days from now and she doesn't want to say goodbye before leaving as she tries to find work as a medic somewhere else, tries to forget all of it and not think of them anymore, whether they're alive or not...

 _Besides_ , Joli reasons sternly, she's always found solace in being alone. Alone, there're no expectations or disappointments or threats of loneliness.

For as long as she remembers, it's intuitive to her— _peaceful_ , even—to live this way.

Joshua's face uncurls from its expression of mock pain into one of concern. He straightens with a frown and stoops slightly to look into her somehow downtrodden face. Her gray eyes are suddenly elusive, the slim face suddenly wearing a sober look that doesn't fit the normally confident features. His warm hands find her dropped shoulders, crinkling the fabric of her tunic.

"Joli Lieber," Joshua says tenderly, in a way that makes it suddenly difficult for her to swallow. His brown eyes fill with compassion: only one feature, Joli realizes, on a face that's only ever been kind to her.

"Joli Lieber," he repeats softly. "Why didn't you go home?"

She tries to laugh. It comes out dry and falls onto the grass between them. She hopes he doesn't notice.

"What, and miss the party?" she coughs.

"Parties are overrated," Joshua returns automatically, not looking away from her. "What did I tell you about peer pressure?"

"Nothing, actually," Joli smiles wanly. She leans slightly into the hold of his hands. "We've actually never discussed peer pressure before. I recall a conversation about hazing new medics, though—"

"—which we decided was unethical," Joshua interrupts quickly, trying not to smile. " _Unethical_...Right, Joli?"

"Very," the Lieutenant nods in mock seriousness, but the corner of her mouth lifts slightly. "Not even a little funny. Not even a _little_."

He looks at her for a second and suddenly grins. "But the baby powder—"

"Not. Even." Joli warns, but laughing. "Not. Even. A _little._ "

Joshua chuckles and lets go of her arms, making Joli somehow feel degrees colder and less well-grounded. He smiles up at the sky patiently, folding his hands behind his back.

Her laughter subsides, resolving into a jittery tapping of her cold hands. She sticks them into her armpits.

"How was the meeting?" Joli asks after a moment.

Joshua looks back to her, seeming somewhat reluctant to revert back to seriousness.

"The usual, I suppose," the Head Medic shrugs, making a mock-pained face. "We're probably going to die, but if we work together and do _the_ _things_ (whatever they are this time), we'll survive and glory to the Commander and save humanity and blah blah _blah_ —"

"Are you going to die?" Joli suddenly asks, slightly surprised by the lack of emotion in her voice.

Her gray eyes find Joshua's, devoid of anything but somehow, simultaneously overflowing. At his surprised look, her gaze flits back down to her clenched hands.

"Because if so," she murmurs, "y'know, it's really mean of you not to include me—"

"If you wanted to die," Joshua interrupts, watching her with wide, gentle eyes. "If you wanted to die, Commander Erwin welcomes every sucker he can get. A better question would be...do you want to die _now?_ For _us?_ "

" _With_ you," she tells him suddenly. Then she scowls again, one leather boot kicking against the ground in misplaced irritation. "Or, at least," Joli says bitterly, "claims the idealized martyr inside me."

Joshua considers for a moment before whistling. "I've never seen that side of you before," he quips, giving her a confused but genuine smile. "Who else is in there?"

"A self-preserving fool," Joli bites back, cocking her head up at him as if by reflex. "A cynical bitch. An arrogant civilian. A naïve medic."

Joshua looks at her, and her fluffed up pride almost makes him laugh.

And to her surprise, the Head Medic suddenly pulls Joli into a warm hug. He stands a good foot taller than her, and her hair brushes the bottom of his chin when she stiffens and gradually relaxes in his hold. Joli briefly registers that her captain smells like mothballs and sweat, and her stunned hands flutter up to find his waist when Joshua begins to speak lowly into her hair.

"You want my advice?" he tells her quietly. " _Leave_. Leave now, or as soon as possible. We have plenty of horses. Take your 3DMG under a cloak and don't let anyone know you were one of us."

Joli makes a brief noise of protest, but Joshua—her captain, her brother and friend—presses the note into his shoulder.

" _Shh_. Just listen for now, okay? You're free now; you can go anywhere within these walls. Go start a bakery in Utopia or whatever the hell you want—the point is, leave this...us...behind."

Joli stops breathing. Here is the validation she needs to leave; here is Joshua telling her she can leave—

" _But if_ ," Joshua Zieler suddenly emphasizes, squeezing her so close Joli feels as if she'll fall apart when he lets go. "...if you, for whatever reason...decide to _...change_ _your mind_ and want to find us, we'll all be in Stohess tomorrow. If everything goes according to plan, the captains won't progress too far into the city. Meanwhile, stay away from the entire northeastern block of the city. If you see or hear anything...the female titan...there might be injuries...Sophie, she's..."

Joli pulls herself back again, and this time, Joshua lets her go.

"You're crazy," she breathes, blinking up, gray eyes enormous. Joshua looks into her dispassionate but fearful eyes.

"...to think I would leave you all behind," Joli concludes weakly. Then, a little bit stronger, with the familiar arrogance and a flick of her neck: "I love Sophie. I would never abandon my best friend like that."

"I also love Sophie," Joshua responds automatically, seeming the slightest bit relieved. "She loves you too, and it makes me almost jealous. But if you choose to stay...please...take care of her..."

There's a moment of silence. Then, the Lieutenant medic pushes herself back into his warm chest with a force that knocks his breath out.

"You better not fucking die on me," Joli mutters spitefully into his cloak, eyes looking at him with stern affection. "I'll hate you forever if you do."

He laughs in response, an impossibly happy sound, and plants a firm kiss on her forehead.

"I'll try my best not to, just for you," he promises, but Joli grips the fabric of his cloak harder, strangely unnerved all of a sudden.

He doesn't seem to notice.

"The evacuation team leaves in a few hours," Joshua tells her, pulling away gently. "My lovely Lieutenant, Joli Lieber. I'll...see you tomorrow."

Her sharp eyes catch the hesitation in his smile, the shifting of brown eyes back up to the sky. Joli lets go of his cloak reluctantly. She can't do it worth a damn, but Joli Lieber knows a lie when she sees one.

* * *

 **More Levi/Joli interaction next time, I promise. Please let me know how you like the story and its progression so far!**

 **Please review!**


	7. Glory in Wine and Coffee

**Goodness, it's been so long. I'm sorry for my lateness. (As always. Excuses, excuses.)**

 **I offer a brief explanation: my life, perpetually falling apart in degrees, suddenly decided to collapse completely coinciding with finals season. Suffice to say, I've been pretty busy.** **I won't bore you with the details, but I recently made a New Years resolution to write more! (*hype*) To lessen the burden a little, I'll start uploading shorter chapters more frequently.**

 **In the next few chapters, Joli's backstory will be made more apparent, and hopefully we'll see more JolixLevi action soon (I advertised it like clickbait in the introduction so I should probably deliver on it eventually hehe. Please anticipate.)**

 **As always, thanks everyone for your patience and kindness :) You all encourage me to work harder. I hope you enjoy this chapter after such a long hiatus! Happy (belated) New Year!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own _SnK._ Duh.**

* * *

 _ **Previously:**_

" _You better not fucking die on me," Joli mutters spitefully into his cloak, eyes looking at him with_

 _stern affection. "I'll hate you forever if you do."_

 _He laughs in response, an impossibly happy sound, and plants a firm kiss on her forehead._

 _"I'll try my best not to, just for you," he promises, but Joli grips the fabric of his cloak harder._

 _Joshua doesn't seem to notice._

 _"The evacuation team leaves in a few hours," the Head Medic tells her, pulling away gently. "My_

 _lovely Lieutenant, Joli Lieber. I'll see you tomorrow."_

* * *

 **Year 844, the Underground District**

 **Levi**

"Welcome," Boss Sigmund grins, showing rows of tiny pearly teeth imbedded between rolls of cheek and chin and neck fat, all stacked upon one another like the fried sugar cakes Isabel loves to eat. He wears an enormous white tunic, a black velvet vest stretched across the enormous middle. Two hands, each wearing three auspicious rings, are folded impatiently over the golden buttons. Sigmund's hairs are black, sparse, greased, and combed back, revealing a disproportionately small forehead and two droopy black eyes.

Levi feels Farlan try to exchange an uneasy look, but Levi keeps his face forward, coolly rational, dark.

"Please sit," the drug lord warbles.

Two hours ago, Farlan answered a knock at the door. The man, clad in a clean black suit, stated he would escort Levi and his party to Sigmund's residence in District 11 within the hour. In the end, with the addition of travel time, Farlan and Levi arrived at the manor an hour late, Isabel tailing behind secretly on foot. Levi timed their tardiness purposefully: it was never advantageous to appear eagerly punctual or decorous with men like Sigmund.

The Boss seems to think the same. He's collapsed in an ornate chair at the head of a long dining table, a half-ripped apart meal in front of him. Lukewarm chicken breast torn, oil dribbling onto the tapestry-like tablecloth. Stuffed omelets crumbled, bits of vegetables and wobbly egg smeared across the plate. A bottle of red wine, spilled carelessly across white napkin. Curiously, Sigmund's attire and face is completely spotless, save for a stain of wine dried in the corners of his cavernous mouth.

"So stiff, boys," Sigmund complains, sitting up to greet them, the rolls of fat disturbed and settling into new stacks. "Please, sit, sit. Thomas, two more glasses, please."

The man who escorted them bows deeply. "Yes, sir." Thomas closes the door on his way out, and Levi takes a seat, three away from Sigmund, and crosses his legs. Farlan sits next to his friend and slings his lanky body across the cushion, an awkward attempt at nonchalance. For a moment, there's silence as Sigmund wipes his mouth with the stained napkin. Farlan readjusts, fidgeting until finally settling into a quiet perch. Levi notices Boss, despite his mouth-wiping, misses the dried wine at the edges of his mouth.

It reminds Levi of blood. A leech seems strangely fitting.

"Well, I suppose you didn't come for the food or the wine," Sigmund finally announces, seeming amused at Levi's dark expression and Farlan's discomfort. "You boys ought not feel so uncomfortable in my home. I rarely open my manor for business, you know. I wanted to congratulate you for the success of your last job. Our customer was extremely pleased...although she questioned why the safe was dusted in white powder."

The Boss begins to chuckle, an unpleasant, wheezy sound Levi associates immediately with dragging glass over gravel.

"Told her it was flour-that you thieves escaped through the kitchen-and she _believed_ that, would you imagine?" The wheezing fills the silence for a moment before eventually subsiding. "Dumb woman, filthy rich...but I admit that I'm rather curious about the appearance of cocaine as well, if you're willing to share-"

"We're here for a job," Levi interrupts coolly. "If you called us here to recount stories, we'll stop wasting our time."

Sigmund stares, almost astonished. After a moment, he claps his hands ecstatically, delighted.

"How acidic!" the Boss bellows. The fat hands with fat rings tap together in an enthusiastic patter like a child's applause. "What brave cynicism and impatience, Mr. Levi. How rare for a man in your stature to speak so candidly to a man of mine. I heard you're notorious for that audacity, but I never had the pleasure of experiencing how wonderfully _acidic_ it feels in person. Absolutely acrid. Refreshing. Then, of course, in the spirit of brusqueness…"

Boss Sigmund leans in, the small pearly teeth dull and grinning, blood and wine at the corners of his pale, doughy mouth:

"Let's talk business and rewards, boys. I can give you everything you want."

* * *

 **Year 850, Stohess**

 **Medic Joli**

Joli splashes her face with cold water, scrubbing at the dirt remaining in the lines of her hands.

The tiny washroom smells foul, sounds of passerby floating through the thin wooden walls. Early fall air condenses Joli's breath, hinting at the freezing to follow. It takes a minute, but she eventually rubs her chilled hands back to life.

After entering the eastern gate of the city with a small caravan of traders at dawn, the first thing Joli wanted to do was wash herself and drink something warm.

The young medic wipes her face with the plain black cloak, examining the dark bruises around her cloudy gray eyes in the dusty, dim mirror. Slight sunburn touches the bridge of her nose and cheeks, tanning and peeling the sunny skin red. Joli looks at her face with brief curiosity and distaste, wondering if this tiredness and wornness is what her patients see when she bends over them, staunching their wounds and suturing their skin and holding their organs in.

Vowing to herself never to show such weariness to her patients, Joli tilts her head back and slightly to the side, the quick eyes never leaving her own reflection. Experimentally, she pushes the curtain of thick auburn hair back across her crown, letting it fall to the small of her back-a gesture that comes across as coyly flirtatious and slightly arrogant.

She examines the familiar posture, satisfied. The Lieutenant Medic is notoriously confident and coolly unemotional, after all. Joli Lieber should be the same.

The medic exits the washroom and wanders back into the near-empty tavern, eventually sliding into an empty seat at the bar. Joli feels her 3DMG bulge awkwardly when she sits down, but the cavernous cape Joshua wrapped around her hours before drops to her knees and covers the steel boxes and gas containers at her hips well enough.

She silently thanks him with a rush of gratitude and bittersweet affection. She wonders if he and Sophie are still alive.

"A little early for a drink, isn't it, Miss?" a man comments, sliding into the seat next to her with a self-important smile. "May I have the privilege of buying you a beer?"

Joli stares at him.

He's another strange or sad soul sitting in a tavern this early in the morning, but clean-kept and young and with a cocky politeness she finds vaguely obnoxious. He smirks slightly under her gaze, the young face gaunt and handsome only from certain angles, confident in the charm of dark eyes and tousled hair. Joli notices he wears the white coat of a doctor over a simple suit, pant cuffs too short to cover his bare ankles.

She ignores the boy, turning to the bartender. "Excuse me, sir. A coffee please."

The bartender's hard face wrinkles with confusion and a hint of amusement. "This is a bar, little girl."

"A coffee for the lady, please," the young man next to her requests brightly, seeming pleased to be of service. "And I'll take a bottle of any red wine. Medium grade. The people it's for aren't terribly important."

The doctor turns to Joli, his black eyes happily patronizing. "I see you're not carrying money. This is my treat, Miss Coffee."

"Thank you," Joli says flatly, taking the warm glass slid in front of her. The bartender places a dark bottle of wine in front of the man next to her. The coffee tastes bitter and strong and wakes her up immediately. After taking a few more sips, Joli glances briefly at the man in the white coat again. He sits, an arm propped on the bartop, openly watching her with an unconcerned smile.

Joli blows carefully on her coffee, gesturing to his coat, determined to wipe that self-righteousness off his face.

"Do you wear this to attract women? You know it's too clean to be believable."

He perks up immediately at being addressed. Almost automatically, his hand touches the white lapel in a proud way that reminds Joli of her own first medical coat.

"Yes, it is in fact new," the doctor responds cheerfully. "Miss Coffee, are you familiar with the practice of medicine?"

She blinks for a moment before bringing her drink back to her mouth.

"Not so familiar, no."

"Well, as of last week, my name is _Dr_. Basch," _Dr_. Basch says, seeming pleased at her sudden interest. His voice holds a note of self-importance that makes Joli want to strangle her coffee cup. "Medicine really is such a beautiful profession. So much potential to _heal_."

Remembering that she's probably seen a lot more blood and carnage than any doctor inside the walls, the irony calms her. Joli breathes in the warm smell of coffee. She wonders how she managed to avoid the trap of physician narcissism unlike Dr. Basch. If she weren't employed by the Corps, perhaps Joli would be practicing in some private clinic, purchasing wine for herself. How disturbingly...sterile.

For the first time, Joli thanks the Academy for expelling her.

"Financially also a really wonderful industry," Basch continues, dark eyes dull and pleased at the perceived reverence. "So much money to be made. Who knew so many fat people think wealth can cure their fatness?"

"Who knew," Joli echoes, quickly losing interest. "Your parents must be extremely proud."

"Oh yes," Basch smiles distractedly. His voice drops, turning confidential. His pale face leans close to hers, and, raising an eyebrow, Joli examines him back.

"But you know the best part?" Dr. Basch asks, licking his lips in excitement. He picks up the bottle of wine in front of him, dragging a limber finger around the lip. "You know who this is for? A patient with alcoholism. He pays me thousands for a cheap bottle of wine, which he drinks in teaspoons at the direction of his competent doctor. Beautiful, isn't it? This _healing_."

Joli convinces her expression to stay neutral, but her hands quiver with agitation as if they want to pour hot coffee across the impeccably clean coat.

She suddenly thinks about the girl Amy, who bled out through her stomach on the back of a wooden cart, abruptly recalling the countless others who lost lives and limbs and sanity and faith during their service to the Recon Corps. Invisible medic, Joli saw it all from the worst angle possible. And perhaps the most helpless part was that people expected her to help them. Joli's seen perpetual healing and dying under her hands and more healing and more dying and tears. So she refuses to cry, because in the end, who is she to shed tears?

Coffee splashes onto the floor, dark, slick.

"A-Are you okay?" the young doctor's panicked voice questions from far away. "Hey, Miss Coffee? Can you hear me? A-Are you having a seizure?!"

Joli curses her shaking hands, forcing the white fingers tighter around the glass until the heat burns them back into her control

"Some doctor," the medic mutters, hating how long it takes for her hands to slow their trembling. She wills herself to imagine Joshua or Sophie or the raven-haired Captain seeing her like this. Gradually, her hands relax.

Joli takes a deep breath, and, seeing the frozen doctor staring at her, exhales a piece of quick advice.

"Temporary extremity tremors and you automatically jump to seizure," she tells him, her voice as level as ever. Joli raises a calm hand, waving her fingers. "You see? No need for dramatics."

"S-Stop drinking that," Basch immediately stutters, snatching her coffee and sliding it back onto the counter. "Thank god I was here. Come to my clinic, Miss Coffee. Unfortunately I'm displaced for now because of those damn soldiers, but-"

Joli looks up immediately.

Basch runs a frustrated hand through his carefully tousled dark hair. "-an evacuation so early this morning for gas leaks. Can you believe it? But I'm sure I'll be back in business soon-"

"Dr. Basch," Joli says, suddenly intrigued. "Does your clinic happen to be located in the northeastern part of Stohess?"

"So you've heard of me," Basch smirks, forgetting his previous incompetency and seeming pleased. "As a matter of fact, I practice in the best hospital in Stohess..."

"Can you describe the soldier who evacuated you?" Joli questions, eyes unwavering, suddenly capturing every detail of this young doctor's person from the pens in his coat pocket to the dizzy splash of freckles on his cheeks. "Their clothing, their weapons, their appearance…"

It takes a moment before Joli realizes Dr. Basch is looking at her strangely. His eyes nervously wander away from her intent gaze, dangerously close to uncomfortable.

The discomfort triggers her instincts, and Joli automatically draws herself up. A coy tilt of her head leaves her long neck exposed. A thin eyebrow raises, a calm face unshakeable: projecting professional poise and confidence.

"Just curious," she manages, struggling to maintain her posturing. "Gas leaks can be very dangerous."

The lie falls flat and unconvincing even to her own ears, but thankfully Dr. Basch is thoroughly distracted by the coffee-drinking, pseudo-epileptic, suddenly violently confident female in front of him.

For some reason, she appears much more attractive than a moment before.

"Just some woman," Basch responds absentmindedly, waving it off. He reexamines Joli's gray eyes, finding them for the first time charmingly lofty. "Just some woman with a pair of wings on her chest. You know, the stuff of Corps soldiers."

"I see," Joli nods surely like she's forming a diagnosis. "And at what time may you go back?"

"Well, she told us-"

As if waking up, Dr. Basch suddenly narrows his eyes, suspicious. "Wait. Why should I tell you anyway?"

Joli, determined not be caught unawares this time, gives a practiced, cool smile. She performs the maneuver she practiced earlier: a casual hand reaches up and brushes her hair back, fanning the dark hair across her shoulders.

"Just curious," she shrugs, taking another smooth sip of coffee. "Thank you for the drink, Dr. Basch. If you don't mind, I must get going-"

"Wait," the young doctor says suddenly, seeming to struggle with his words. "Th-The soldier told us to stay quiet about it, but…"

He shakes his head and peers into Joli's face as if for affirmation. She tilts her head at him curiously, encouraging him to continue.

"She said," Basch continues, hesitant, "repairs were beginning immediately. The whole neighborhood is a hazard zone. "Residents are supposed to stay clear of that district...specifically from now to early afternoon. Those were her exact words-"

His words are cut off by a distant explosion.

The bartender curses, bracing himself against the counter. Bottles of liquor rattle along the shelves, and Joli feels her stool tremble as the ground protests against the shockwave.

The medic runs out without a word, brisk air hitting her lungs. Her horse whinnies from where he's tethered by the tavern, stomping his hooves in agitation. A cloud of foul gray smoke rises in the east, towering and ominous. Joli hears faraway screams, and the apprehension she tried to keep buried since leaving the Corps early this morning resurfaces.

But she refuses to allow the fear consume her hands again. As a medic, Joli knows she has work to do.

"Wh-What the hell is that?" Dr. Basch demands from behind her, voice shaky. "What the hell is happening?"

"A hazard zone," the Lieutenant medic explains briefly, untying her cloak and revealing her 3DMG. She calmly checks the gauge on her gas containers. "The inevitable conflict Commander Erwin warned us about. The final stand of the Corps. And a question for you, Basch: who will you always find in the middle of hazard zones like this?"

The young doctor looks pale, terrified of the enormous white cloud consuming his neighborhood, his practice, everything he sees as his success; all of it swallowed up by a mysterious and unknowable explosion.

"I-I don't know," Basch stammers, stunned. "…Bodies?"

" _Physicians_ ," Joli answers, saluting him with a grim smile. "You probably feel like running away. Or perhaps you want to live up to your words and heal. Whatever you decide, Dr. Basch, just take care of my horse."

She shoots her equipment onto a nearby chimney, flipping herself onto the roof and flying towards the site of the explosion.

"Ah," Dr. Basch manages, watching his seemingly mundane Miss Coffee depart with the expert precision of a soldier. "Ah...ah…"

Next to him, Joli's horse whinnies, pulling after his owner.

"Ah...ah... _what the hell_ ," the young doctor finally decides, sweating.

He unties the horse with nervous fingers and rides awkwardly towards the hazard zone, anticipating bodies and gas leaks and hell and, in the middle of it, physicians.

* * *

 **Preview for next chapter:**

As if in confirmation, Levi pauses briefly in front of them.

"It's the clinic," he repeats in his ever-toneless voice, "and we're not taking Boss Sigmund's job."

 **Review?**


	8. It Happened Underground (Pt 2)

**Unfortunately a rather rushed chapter, but I hope you enjoy it regardless! It** **turns unnecessarily fluffy towards the end but...that's the stuff we live for, right? :)**

 **As always, thank you all, dear readers, for your patience and support. I love hearing from you and learning how to improve my writing and storytelling!**

 **(While we're on the topic of improvement, I apologize for sentimental and OOC Levi. Will do better next time.)**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own _SnK_. Duh.**

* * *

 **Previously:**

 _Boss Sigmund leans in, the small pearly teeth dull and grinning, blood and wine at the corners of his pale, doughy mouth:_

 _"Let's talk business and rewards, boys. I can give you everything you want."_

* * *

 **Year 844, the Underground District**

 **Levi**

They leave two hours later, Levi abruptly declining Sigmund's bawdy insistence of another glass of wine.

As they walk back to their home in District 6, Farlan can barely contain his excitement. He walks with an uneasy amazement, glancing up every once in awhile to peer at Levi, who's stayed purposefully stoic since their departure.

When Levi breaks the silence, it's not with the celebratory tone Farlan anticipated.

"...We're not taking this job, Farlan," Levi says.

"Great!" Farlan exclaims cheerfully, clapping him once on the shoulder. "Then we can start planning tomorrow—"

His teammate wordlessly keeps walking.

"Wait... _what?"_ Farlan blinks at his leader's back, stopping in his tracks when the words finally register. "You-you're not serious, are you?"

Levi pauses as well, surveying the dimly lit streets ahead. An elderly woman with a basket approaches and hurriedly moves to the other side of the street, quickly passing the two with a suspicious glare.

"Mm," Levi considers, scanning the neighborhood with sharp black eyes. "Where's Isabel?"

"...My god...Levi! _Did you even hear what he'd give us?_ "

Finally turning back, Levi looks at Farlan, matching eyes with a sharp look that makes Farlan gulp besides himself.

"Farlan," Levi repeats, not unkindly or impatiently, but just in the same tone he uses when talking about robbing officials or paying the rent. "We're not taking this job."

"Hey, Levi-bro! Farlan!" Isabel swings around a corner behind them, 3DMG bulky underneath an oversized cloak. Her breath comes out in small puffs. "What happened in there? I lost sight after you left—"

"Thank god, Isabel. Tell Levi he's crazy!"

She swivels a wide gaze between them. "Did something go wrong?"

Levi turns back to the street in front of them, crossing his arms.

"...Nothing. We're not taking this job."

Farlan releases a note of frustration. "Aren't you even going to tell her what he offered?"

More silence.

" _Passports_ , Isabel," Farlan answers instead, impatiently, to the waiting redhead. "Sigmund promised us _Topside passports_ , and Levi spat in his face—"

" _What?!_ " Isabel runs to face him, tugging on the sleeve of Levi's white shirt. "Levi-bro...have you lost your mind?"

He turns to look at both of them slowly, carefully.

"...Don't be dramatic," Levi says. "I didn't spit in his face."

"Well...you basically did," Farlan snorts. "I'd rather not repeat some of the stuff you said in there, actually—"

"But Levi-bro...Topside passports?" Isabel interrupts, squinting like she's trying to see Levi's reasoning in his face. "Isn't that sorta...what we've always wanted?"

"Yes!" Farlan exclaims, wondering when Isabel became the reasonable one. "Thank you, Isabel!"

" _No_ ," Levi says plainly. "They'd only last us a year; we couldn't stay up there with what we have now. It's not worth it."

Levi resumes walking for a moment before repeating: "We're not taking this job."

Farlan stares at Levi's back, trying to suppress his frustration. Although it's true the passports wouldn't grant them permanent citizenship Topside, they'd at least feel a sliver of the freedom and fresh air and sun and weather that they've fought to feel for god knows how long—

 _And Levi turned it down—_

Farlan itches to argue more, but he stares at his friend's impervious, straight spine and the sure stride. He forces himself to take a deep breath before saying anything else. While Farlan isn't known to be particularly level-headed, he survived this long in the crime business for thinking rationally and reasonably.

In front of him, Levi's gait bears a familiar, calm steadiness Farlan and Isabel decided to trust and follow years ago. It's guided them through countless jobs and knife fights and 3DMG pursuits. And as if in reminder, Isabel turns briefly to give Farlan an annoyed look to catch up. Her loyalties were also decided long ago.

Farlan quickens his pace, sighing at the lost passports but resigning himself to trust Levi's judgement.

After a block, Isabel tugs slightly on Farlan's sleeve.

"But still," she asks quietly, green eyes automatically concerned at whatever it is disturbing her older brother. "What _was_ the job?"

Looking down at her, Farlan notices her breathing sounds normal, uncongested with a slight wheeze from exertion. Her face still seems abnormally pale, but the mouth and cheeks are flushed and noticeably pinker. Since the girl Joli prescribed a few assorted pills and an injection for S2 a week ago, Isabel hasn't vomited and appears almost back to normal.

Farlan turns forward again, knowing Levi is listening.

"To rob and deliver drugs," he answers, hoping Isabel lets it go.

She doesn't.

"That's just like any other job," Isabel points out loudly. "What's so—"

"It's the clinic," Levi interrupts, not turning around.

She blinks.

"The clinic," Isabel echoes. "As in _the_ clinic? As in Ms. Sunshine nurse and Topside doctors?"

Levi nods wordlessly.

After a few steps, Isabel lets out a big breath.

Then she turns and punches Farlan in the arm. _Hard_.

"You would betray the people who helped me!" she announces incredulously.

Farlan grimaces, rubbing his arm and pressing a hard hand into her hair.

"Well, maybe you getting better wasn't such a good thing—"

He's interrupted with by jab to the ribs.

In the bickering that follows, even Farlan internally admits that he feels the same relief in refusing the job. Despite the fact that he, Isabel, and Levi are criminals, they still maintain at least some semblance of values. Their little team upholds their own strong yet flexible version of justice.

Especially their leader, Levi, regards violence with stern distaste and carefully considers each job with the quiet dignity of someone who doesn't belong Underground. The charisma is by no means inspiring or explosive, but it draws Farlan and Isabel to Levi regardless. They respect and trust him, and he reciprocates in his own subtle, callous way. Farlan doubts any other criminal team defends one another as both accomplices _and_ friends like they do.

And for this, Farlan feels proud.

However, he also knows that Boss Sigmund will simply find others to perform the job: another team most likely less humane and much greedier than the three of them.

Farlan watches Levi's back with anticipation. Somehow, he knows that Levi's already considered these things as well. Sure enough, Levi pauses in front of them, hands melted in the pockets of a dark coat. His sharp eyes scan the surroundings before settling back on his two companions.

"It's the clinic, and we're not taking Boss Sigmund's job," Levi repeats in his ever-toneless voice. He pauses briefly as if waiting for opposition, but Farlan gives him a short nod and Levi responds with an acknowledging tilt of the head before continuing. "Our refusal, of course, will only delay, not stop, the operation."

"He'll just find someone else," Farlan agrees, voicing it like a question. "How should we...handle this? Do nothing? Report it?"

"Oh yeah," Isabel snorts, arms crossed over her loose green tunic. The two magenta pigtails bob irritably around her chin. "And while we're at it, let's tell them about our own crimes too. But since when did the police actually care about protecting us anyway?"

The "never" goes unspoken. They lapse into a tense silence.

After a moment, Farlan breaks the quiet.

"We could...protect them," he suggests reluctantly, uncomfortable with intervening but somehow slightly more uncomfortable at the thought of leaving the clinic completely undefended. "Or at least...warn the doctors in advance."

He and Isabel automatically look to Levi, watching the consideration on their leader's impassive face.

When Levi finally speaks, it's in the same unperturbed tone as ever.

"Yes," he says flatly, examining the dimming streetlights. Levi's dark eyes furrow absentmindedly, already apprehending the familiar suffocation of his wool mask. "That's the sort of job we'll take."

* * *

 **Year 844, The Underground District**

 **Joli**

"Strange," the nurse murmurs, reading the thermometer with a concerned look. She gently touches Isabel's forehead with the back of her hand. "Are you sure you've been taking your meds?"

From where he stands at doorframe, Levi shoots Isabel a warning look over Joli Lieber's head. Today, the nurse wears her same white coat, slightly crumpled and faintly stained around the sleeves. Her thick hair is somehow all wrapped up into a dark scarf, loose strands of auburn drifting down to touch her cheeks and neck. Overall, Levi notices she looks the same, if not a little paler, from their last visit a week ago.

"Half a pill everyday for fever and a whole one every other day for nausea," Isabel grumbles, shooting Levi a resentful look. "I feel _almost_ as bad as before."

Levi purposefully readjusts the black mask around his face.

Three days have passed since they refused Boss Sigmund's job. Today also marks the third day of Isabel's med boycott. After deciding to regularly observe the clinic from the inside, they argued over the best way to infiltrate without arousing suspicion.

To Levi and Farlan, the solution seemed glaringly obvious.

None of them were particularly excited at the thought of relapsing sickness, but as Farlan patiently explained to an appalled Isabel, "Ingrid Schumacher" was their only tangible link back to the volunteer clinic. So three days ago, Isabel stopped taking her meds. The next day, her temperature crept back up. Today, the nausea returned.

"I've been taking my meds," Isabel reaffirms irritably, picking at her wool cloak. "There's probably something wrong with them, because they're not working. Obviously."

She gives a string of staged coughs, with enough rattle to sound real.

"I'm sorry," Joli says immediately, sympathetically, and Levi frowns at how automatic the apology comes. The nurse turns to glance up at where he leans against the door, and Levi bristles slightly when the concerned gray eyes flicker briefly over his own.

"Would you like me to get one of the doctors?" she asks. "I'm afraid they're caught up in a surgery, but if you'd like to come back sometime tomorrow—"

Levi nods immediately, feeling the black wool rustle against his face. Isabel hops off the exam table thankfully, pumping an exasperated victory fist behind Joli's back.

"We can come back later," he tells Joli as she stands from her chair.

For now, they secured an excuse for reentry. Of course, they likely will return in a few days or perhaps next week instead of tomorrow—this reconnaissance doesn't need them to return everyday to secure their safety.

Levi plans on ending it there, but when Joli nods to him absentmindedly, her concerned expression makes him hesitate.

"Sorry for the trouble," Levi states as offhandedly as he can manage, catching the door and letting Isabel out first. "Hopefully we can figure out what's wrong."

"Yes," Joli agrees, blinking at him as if suddenly in thought. "I hope so too."

For a moment, the firm hands burrow deep into her pockets, and Joli glances at the empty door. In the next moment, she takes a sudden step close, the lapel of her white coat swinging an inch away from Levi's chest.

A moment stalls during which Levi figures she'll cross him and follow Isabel back to the adjourning waiting room—but Joli stops in front of him, and the moment passes.

His right hand, automatically tightened around the knife in his belt, slackens when Levi feels her warm breath touch the wool of his mask. Joli looks up at him, unafraid, her gaze flickering over his face and across his mask and all the way down his arm to where the knife is sheathed, hidden, beneath his cloak. And Levi, under these close, crystallizing eyes, finds it suddenly difficult to move. From this close, Joli's gray eyes peer up, reflective and contemplative and somehow omnipotent, like she knows they're lying, knows their faces despite the masks, and even somehow knows about Sigmund and the danger facing her and her little philanthropic clinic.

But this, Levi rationalizes, is surely impossible.

"Are you," Joli Lieber begins, and Levi anticipates the end: _are you hiding something? Are you lying to me? Are you really doing your best to protect us?_

"Are you…" Joli purses her lips briefly before finishing. "...sure Ingrid hasn't been taking her meds?"

"Positive," Levi responds immediately, unblinking, surprising himself with how confident he sounds. "We're family. We try to take care of one another."

She blinks clear gray eyes, then shakes her head slightly, feeling suddenly perturbed at her poor intuition.

"Of course," Joli murmurs.

She steps back, the distance between them suddenly unfamiliar and vast. The young nurse gives Levi a sheepish smile, touching the back of her head wrap. "I'm sorry for the obtrusion."

"Don't apologize," Levi tells her, and he ignores the urge to look away when she glances up. He clears his throat. "You did nothing wrong."

The girl Joli looks at him for a moment before smiling back at him, so sincerely that Levi almost feels uncomfortable.

"That's...a relief," Joli responds, shoulders relaxing.

Her hands grow restless, and she withdraws them from her pockets, knotting them absentmindedly.

"It's been a rather tough week, you see," she exhales, "and I actually never imagined nursing would exhaust me this much. It really makes me respect Vernon and Steven more, of course, but school really didn't help as much as I expected in terms of practicing actual patient care—"

Joli takes a breath and laughs a little.

"Sorry for the babbling," the young nurse breathes, before pausing. "Well...perhaps not." She gives Levi a serious look, but her playful eyes betray her. "In your expertise, sir, would this be an appropriate time to apologize?"

Levi considers briefly before shaking his head. "Not the worst offense I've come across."

She sighs, a hand tapping her forehead gratefully. "That's a relief."

The corner of Levi's mouth twitches, briefly, then disappears into a buried frown. He's about to tell Joli something important like the truth and Sigmund's job and how urgent it is for her and this clinic to disappear—

But then Isabel reappears in the doorway behind him, pulling on his sleeve and complaining about a headache, and Joli follows them back to the crowded waiting room. Farlan jumps up quickly from where he's jammed between a feverish old man and hacking woman, and his seat is promptly swallowed up by the waiting ill.

"Tomorrow," Levi manages to say, forgetting the operation for a moment and turning back briefly from the door. He holds his mask firmly in place as strangers jostle around him.

A new patient's paperwork already in her hand, Joli gives a small wave across the cramped office.

"Please," he hears her say before the queue presses them through the door. "It's always a pleasure to see you, Luca."

They're already out on the afternoon street, heading east towards their next job and escorting Isabel home to rest, when Levi realizes Joli was referring to him.

* * *

 **Please review! I am, as always, honored to be endowed by your feedback.**


	9. Liabilities and the City Limits

**Hi, friends!**

 **Wow, I still can't believe that it's been almost a year since I first published this story (and more than two months since I last updated! Wow!)**

 **Brief update on my life before we get back into the action, to partially explain this delay: I unintentionally destroyed my computer, mercifully was accepted into a decent college, and attended a BTS concert in Chicago. Guess which event matters most to me! (Hint: probably the last one.)**

 **Special thanks to Love Remedy for pointing out various continuity and consistency errors! I'm very scatterbrained, so on the likely chance that I mess up again, please let me know and I will try my best to fix it! :)**

 **For your convenience and mine, I added a brief timeline of events (including the time skip) to refresh your memory.**

 **Hope you enjoy the new chapter!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own _SnK_. Duh.**

* * *

 **Timeline:**

 **Year 844, Underground**

 **-Joli Lieber, schooled only three years at the Royal Academy, volunteers as a nurse in Vernon and Steven's clinic Underground**

 **-Isabel contracts a mild case of S2, eliciting simultaneous worry and disgust from her companions**

 **-Boss Sigmund attempts to hire Levi's team to perform a clinic drug heist**

 **-Joli's sincerity and her clinic's altruism compel them to (despite obvious dangers) try and protect them**

 **Years 844-850, Underground**

 **-Joli Lieber is expelled from university and leaves the clinic**

 **-Erwin enlists Levi, Farlan, and Isabel to join the Recon Corps**

 **Year 850, Topside**

 **-the 57th Expedition decimates Recon Corps forces and civilian support within the Walls**

 **-Joli Lieber encounters Levi, but fails to recognize him**

 **-Armin Arlert plans to expose the identity of the female titan**

 **-the MP escorts Commander Erwin and other Corps leaders through Stohess for their treason trial**

 **-an explosion marks the beginning of the fight between Eren Jaeger and the female titan**

 **-Joli and fellow OC, self-righteous Dr. Basch, enter the conflict to perform their medical obligations**

* * *

 **Year 850, Stohess**

 **Captain Levi**

The military escort arrives at dawn.

Hange watches them from the window, her lips curled in uncharacteristically acrid contempt.

"Look at them," she scoffs bitterly. Her eyes flicker over the small group breaking through the treeline, counting.

"Twelve soldiers," she finally announces. Her hands squeeze, aggravated, over the space her blades used to hang.

Their 3DMG, however, lies discarded in the main hall. A peace offering, Erwin called it.

"Did they really think that many would be enough?"

"Hange," Erwin says mildly. "Remember, we're in control here."

But when the Military Police members push exhausted Corps horses into empty stalls so their own steeds can feed, Levi twitches. And when they kick the doors open to the castle with their dirty ass feet, Levi clenches his teeth. And when the leader and a few other foot soldiers finally enter the dining room where the captains are gathered, one girl moves to retrain Levi. He gives her a warning glare so livid, the girl's freckles pale into the white of her pasty skin and she steps away without a word.

"Erwin Smith," the MP leader finally says, voice strangely heavy as he looks Erwin in the eye. "You and your soldiers are under arrest for high treason. Under the authority of the king, I ask you to relieve yourself of any weapons and submit yourselves to Military Police authority."

There's a moment when the officers all tense, expecting resistance, and the girl next to Levi briefly seems to recover her color.

But the moment passes.

Erwin simply nods and extends a hand to the man arresting them. "Nice to see you again, Nile."

Their respective soldiers look back and forth between the two of them in confusion.

Nile steps forward and clasps his hand firmly: a greeting between old companions and an acknowledgement of respect. "And you."

When they break apart, Levi catches Hange's incredulous expression. She mouths something that looks like what the fuck? but he can't be sure.

Levi, of course, has seen Nile Dok before at various military conferences in Mitras and, most recently, during the trial of Eren Jaeger. From the little he's observed about the other military branches over the last few years, Commander Nile Dok is surprisingly upright in character but possesses terrible intuition and little real power over his troops. In conversation, Erwin offhandedly mentioned Nile was not a bad man—only woefully opportunistic and scared of taking risks.

Generous, Levi remembers thinking, coming from the leader of an organization citizens started calling the "Suicide Corps".

"I'm afraid you'll need to give up your gear and weapons," Nile Dok states grimly after releasing his grip. "Eren Jaeger will be held under MP custody for the time being. We also received instructions to bring in the remaining Recon Corps soldiers for questioning in the capital."

"Not imprisonment," Erwin responds sharply, icy blue eyes trained on the shorter man. "I and my captains agreed to full responsibility by turning ourselves in. Or have you forgotten Article IX of the Military Accords?"

The other commander scrutinizes Erwin's gaze for a moment, then sighs, dropping his eyes to the dusty wooden table between them.

"This is a serious offense," Nile explains reluctantly, "in a time of unfortunate tension and division. We'll discuss responsibility later at the council hearing. Please, Erwin...we're just following orders."

The roses on Nile's back ripple when he reaches under his coat and pulls out a pair of steel handcuffs. Like a cue, the other Police take them out too.

Levi carefully watches the emotions flash in Erwin's eyes like lightning: annoyance to bemusement back to neutral sky blue. The progression is so fast no one else who knew him less well could possibly see it.

"Please," Nile Dok repeats, thinking the pause is hesitation. "From one commander to another."

Judging from the watchfulness and careful words, it's clear that the Military Police expect some sort of uprising. In terms of combat experience, of course, even the few Corps members remaining would easily overwhelm the MP troops. After all, humans are much easier to take down than titans; a thick slice to the nape kills a titan, but a hard hit nearly anywhere crumples a human. However, Levi looks at the Commander and knows from Erwin's tall posture and knowing eyes that everything is moving exactly according to plan.

The commander extends his wrists, allowing Nile to clamp the chain down. Around the room, other soldiers follow suit. A few Corps captains exchange nervous looks or grumble at the idea of being constrained, but following Erwin, all let the soldiers cuff them. The girl next to Levi looks up at him tentatively, and he wordlessly retrieves his arms from under his cloak. The tarnished steel falls against his rough hands, and Levi narrows his eyes, thinking about all the leftover skin and dirt that surely touched this particular pair of handcuffs before him. The thought is repulsive.

He focuses instead on keeping his reflexes in check, stopping himself from driving a sharp heel into the clumsy soldier patting him down for weapons. When she touches his broken ankle, he clenches his teeth. However, it's a minimal comfort to remember that the pain doesn't come close to that elicited by the ridiculous woman, Joli Lieber.

Briefly, Levi considers how that soft clinic girl became so...spiteful.

"A splint?" the girl Police member questions, touching his stiff ankle. She reaches into his boot, but Levi shoots her another glare and she backs away quickly, her head almost bumping into the wall.

"Clean," the Police members call one by one.

When the last of the captive captains are frisked down, they follow Nile Dok outside, flanked by MP troops. With the Corps soldiers stripped of their 3DMG and weapons, the Police appear much more relaxed now, taking charge of these wolves without teeth.

The meager remnants of the Recon Corps stand gathered in the courtyard.

The girl soldier, Mikasa, and Armin Arlert are noticeably absent.

"Get Jaeger inside," Nile directs, barely glancing at the sweating boy soldier with freshly-dyed hair before moving on to the confiscated gear. A soldier pushes Jean Kirstein towards a prison cart, and the boy awkwardly sits inside as the door slams, inwardly dumbfounded by how well the plan is commencing so far.

"You'll ride handcuffed," Nile Dok announces to the rest of the Recon Corps, finishing counting their remaining horses. His hand rests on his hip, an inconspicuous gesture, if not for the shiny revolver hanging from his belt. "None of these horses can outrun a bullet. It's in your best interest to remain in formation until we arrive in Stohess. Any questions?"

Joshua Ziegler raises his hand, struggling slightly with the handcuffs.

From the corner of Levi's eye, he watches Erwin furrow a brow slightly.

"Sir," the Head Medic says, brown eyes squinting up at Nile Dok seriously. "How long until we can stop to take a piss?"

Silence. Then the sharp, loud bark of Hange's laughter. The other Corps captains smirk, venturing to peer up at the Police Commander, anticipating his reaction.

Nile's sparse goatee twitches, once, then falls still. He overlooks them again as if Joshua never opened his mouth.

"I and the Vice Commander lead formation," Nile Dok announces, mounting his horse. "Foot soldiers flank the group."

Behind his back, Hange gives Joshua a small nod. A sign of forgiveness for his previous irreverence and encouragement of effort to unite the group.

Meanwhile, Nile Dok glances up at the sunny sky, looking displeased, as if the cheerful weather mocks him.

"Military Police, move out!" he announces. "We should arrive in Stohess by late afternoon."

* * *

They ride, for the most part, in solemn silence. Apart from Nile Dok's occasional direction and the grumbles of exhausted Corps and Police soldiers alike, the only sounds Levi hears are the monotonous steps of hooves on packed dirt and faint rustle of wind through the sparse foliage.

The shiny sun, which offered some degree of consolation this morning, becomes sweltering and a source of constant complaints. Levi peels off his heavy cape and brushes the black hair out of his eyes irritably.

After a few hours of travelling, Joshua Ziegler brings up the piss break again, but overheated, sleep-deprived, and overall agitated, the nearest MP soldier smacks him so hard across the face, Joshua nearly falls over backwards. This time, no one even chuckles, and the Head Medic makes no further comments for the remainder of the trip.

The city appears dead as they enter, surreally quiet.

Rare, Levi thinks, tightening his grip on the reigns. Usually the higher-ups enjoy making a spectacle of corporal punishment.

The other soldiers seem to think the same, staring at the empty streets with a prickle of unease.

"Sir," the MP second-in-command finally says to Nile Dok, "wasn't the other party supposed to meet with us by now?"

"Just a small delay," Dok responds, refusing to give his prisoners the satisfaction of turning around. "We'll proceed as planned, and if we must escort the criminal party all the way to Mitras ourselves, we will do it."

Levi exchanges a glance with Erwin, whose face bears a look of such unashamed satisfaction, it makes Levi feel almost disgusted.

"Perhaps it'd be wiser to wait," Erwin says, and although he doesn't speak loudly, the entire party—Corps and MP soldiers included—turn at the assurance in his voice.

At that moment, a resounding crack splits the air. Levi dismounts automatically; other soldiers are less lucky. They fall from their panicked horses, the sudden explosion quaking the entire city. From the west, twin columns of smoke rise, accompanied by the familiar smell of sulfur and foul meat.

Nile Dok steadies himself as the shaking settles, whipping around, eyes alight with suspicion and a fire Levi recognizes immediately as fear.

"What did you do?" he demands of Erwin. "What the hell have you done?"

And like the bastard he is, Erwin masks his smug expression with a facade of concerned calm.

"Dispatch your men, Nile," the Recon Corps Commander says. "We must assume a titan breached the walls."

"B-But...this is Wall Sina," Nile responds dumbly. "There's no way—"

"Prepare your troops as best as you can," Erwin says, ignoring him to addressing the stunned Military Police members now. "Move out immediately. There will be casualties, so mobilize any emergency medics on hand as well."

In one smooth motion, Erwin holds out his wrists, and Nile Dok almost immediately, as if subconsciously, unlocks the cuffs.

In the resulting chaos, civilians stream from their homes to gawk at the rising dark smoke. Joshua Ziegler takes off in the direction of the explosion, tearing off his green cloak and throwing it in the face of an MP guard who reaches to stop him.

After a soldier undoes his cuffs, Levi rubs his freed wrists and narrows his eyes at the distant battle ensuing. He darkly imagines the echo of screams and the many innocents, even living this far within the Walls, silenced beneath the feet of raging titans. Briefly, he wonders whether Erwin calculated these eminent deaths as simply minor costs in this latest grand scheme.

It's a bitter respect Levi fosters toward the Commander of the Recon Corps. From the moment he saw Erwin's calculating eyes in the dimness of the Underground five years ago, Levi somehow knew Erwin Smith was a man he would despise but respect and follow Topside and outside the Walls. Erwin possesses a cold rationality that Levi tries to emulate but essentially lacks. Levi knows that others attempt to emulate that machine-like efficiency as well—most notably that brash young medic, who masks her insecurities behind steely eyes and a high chin. In the end, though, they all ultimately fail. Because unlike Erwin and despite their own guises, Levi and Joli are the most sensitive people the Recon Corps knows.

Levi observes these things, and expertly hides his emotions like liabilities.

God knows what Erwin and the rest of the world would try to pull if they noticed.

* * *

 **Year 850, Stohess**

 **Medic Joli**

The first wounded citizen Joli sees lies crushed under the rubble of a ruined statue.

Joli's hands twitch in her 3DMG, ready to trigger the grip and propel herself onto the cracked cobblestone between the droves of fleeing citizens.

From up high, Joli feels the familiar and detached perspective of a witness. The winds buffet her hair, pulling it free from its loose tie and rippling the black cloak around her shoulders. A foul stench—a thick odor she associates with necrosis and spoiled meat—blows over from the dark cloud of smoke. In the midst of this disorder, Joli knows she could save this wounded man.

He's still struggling, crying at the pain of his abdomen, destroyed by heavy chunks of concrete and rubble. She knows that under her charm and authority, a few of the panicked people on the streets might stop, help free the man, and allow Joli to stop the bleeding and assess the damage.

But from this cold vantage point, she also knows that hectic citizens rush by with no thoughts of altruism—only survival. She knows that based on his contorted body, the man will likely bleed out or enter shock or face irreparable organ damage within the next ten minutes.

Of all the romantic rhetoric she's read about medicine, Joli most hates the naive notion that medics can save anyone as long as they arrive in time. Between her years Underground to now, Joli no longer remembers how many times she's rushed to an emergency only to find a mourning family, or, even worse, a hopeful one.

The crushed man's life literally passes by her in a flash, and Joli Lieber, for all her poise, swallows angrily at the injustice of it all before rappelling herself into the next building with more force than necessary.

Sentimentality like that, she's discovered, creates a liabilities. And for most of her life, Joli's lived to minimize them. It takes her a long time to even open up to others, and presently, she can count the number of her friends on one hand. In every sarcastic remark about death and every cold judgement she's made during her medichood, Joli's hardened personality exudes audacity, irreverence, and above all, calm control despite the chaos.

Internally, however, she smiles wanly and diagnoses herself with obsessive-compulsive disorder and periodic spells of anxiety. This irony of a sick medic is not lost on her.

However, regardless of these weaknesses, Joli Lieber paints a cool face and pushes on. Her patients trust this face, and as an added bonus, emotions don't make her so vulnerable anymore.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the decimated tower to her right.

Sharp cries emanate from the streets below, citizens pulling shocked children from the acrid smoke and ruin the titans left behind.

Joli rapells herself from the nearest roof, landing with a sharp skid onto the rubble below. A few frantic citizens, a middle-aged man and woman, try to pull a girl out from under a collapsed pillar. She lies on her chest, cheeks ripped and legs erupted with so much blood it seems impossible. White marble imbedded like broken bones. The girl screams in agony, yellow hair sticky with tears on her cheeks and in her mouth.

"Leverage", Joli demands, walking up to them with hands on her hips and as much assurance she can muster. Her gray eyes flick over the bewildered parents, the tears filming the girl's dazed eyes, and the half-intact stone that traps her under its ton of deadweight.

"Find something durable and long enough to provide leverage," Joli directs, whipping her head back to the man and woman. "You'll rip her legs off before freeing her at this rate."

The two, sweat on their faces, look at her with a confused, desperate, and semi-annoyed expression.

The woman opens her dry mouth. "Who—"

"Joli Lieber, Recon Corps Lieutenant Medic," she introduces neatly, chin tilting up haughtily as if she expects to be recognized. "I expect you to cooperate with me to save this girl. I assume she's your daughter?"

"Our youngest," the man murmurs. He exchanges a glance with his wife, and after a moment, they grimly kiss their daughter's bloodless arms, setting them down carefully on the cracked street.

"Mama," the girl whimpers as her parents run to find anything that could be used to pry the block of marble off of her. Crumpled, she looks like no more than a teenager, dressed in a white church dress and a cap of gems on her fair hair. From the thighs down, her mangled legs are nothing more than torn flesh and strips of skin buried under the dense marble.

Joli kneels down, dark hair fanning over her shoulders. Taking a controlled breath, Joli reaches over and takes the girl's hand. She channels as much confidence as she can into her gray gaze and casual smile.

"Honey," she says affectionately, evoking as much maternal empathy as she can. "What's your name?"

"V-Vivian," the girl responds weakly. "Where's...my mom?"

"We'll get you outta here," Joli ignores her evenly, training her eyes on Vivian's dilated pupils and observing the sheen of sweat across her clammy face. "It'll hurt, so I need you to be really brave, okay?"

Vivian nods, imperceptibly, her pale cheeks ground with broken glass.

"Will this do?" her father approaches, pale-faced, a long plank of wood in his hands. "It was a support beam and seems strong enough…"

"Good work," Joli says automatically, giving him a confident smile. "Let's try it."

She carefully shuffles around Vivian and touches the space by the girl's left knee. They maneuver the plank under the pillar, and Joli gives Vivian's father a firm nod.

The man leans his weight onto the lever, and in a brief moment of hope, the pillar lifts.

But in the next second, the wood snaps with a shower of splinters and drops the weight with renewed force onto the girl's destroyed legs. Vivian screams for what sounds like miles, and Joli winces despite herself at the hopelessness on the father's face.

Others rush by, sending terrified glances in their direction, running by faster like staying for even a moment would crush their own legs and trap them there as well.

Joli pushes an agitated, trembling hand through her hair.

The acrid air reminds her abruptly of Sophie, who's evacuating citizens somewhere, and of Joshua, who no doubt must've managed to get into additional trouble with the MP in the last few hours. And despite her better judgement, the Lieutenant Medic takes a long breath of titan smoke and oxygen. Her hands almost automatically reach back to tie her long tresses back into a loose bun, and Joli Lieber regains her composure.

Her face, a the picture of cool competence. Her hands, the steady deliverers of human miracles.

Joli sweeps back onto her hands and knees, lifting Vivian's face and touching her clammy cheeks with as much assured compassion she can muster.

"You're doing so well. I know it hurts, and I know you're afraid, and I know it feels like hell, but I need you to stay with me, okay?" Joli says this breathlessly to the girl, whose face rattles with sobs into the rubble and dusty cobblestone.

Joli strokes Vivian's hair once, hand heavy but voice light.

"Medic," Vivian's mother says frightfully, and Joli turns at the familiar title.

The woman is slight, wrinkling in the face and neck and wrists, but she stands firm in her plain gray dress and tight headscarf. Her shaking arms offer a thick metal pipe.

"Will this be sufficient?" the woman asks hesitantly.

"It's perfect," Joli says, internally relieved. A genuine smile lights the familiar spark in her gray eyes. "And keep calling me medic. Makes me feel important despite the treason. But that can all come later—for now, let's save your daughter."

* * *

 **Review? :)**


	10. Insufferable People

**Work reduces me to a puddle by the end of the day, so I'm sorry I can't update as frequently as I want to T_T. Please enjoy this chapter, and anticipate rising action in the next few!**

 **For those of you who like a visual reminder of what my OCs look like (even I forget sometimes lol), here's a short description below. As always, I'm embarrassingly forgetful, so please tell me if there are any continuity errors between what I write here and in previous chapters...even if they're tiny details! (e.g. I forgot whether I gave Vernon and Steven last names earlier in the story or not...Well, they have new ones now.) I'm trying to commission a friend to draw some visuals for my characters, but we're not technologically advanced enough to create any digital art so anything I post will probably be pencil sketches.**

 **Anyway, I love you guys a lot. Thanks for sticking around and reading!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own** _ **SnK**_ **. Duh.**

* * *

 **Character profiles:**

 **Joli Lieber: slim frame, sun-touched skin, sharp features, quick gray eyes, thick auburn hair (to her lumbar area), cynical yet sensitive personality**

 **Joshua Ziegler: tall yet slightly slouched frame, fair skin with freckles, coffee-colored eyes, wavy bronze hair, comfortable demeanor, noisy yet considerate personality**

 **Sophie Ziegler: petite (preggo) frame, coffee-colored skin, deep green eyes, chin-length dark brown hair, blunt yet kind personality**

 **Vernon Eberhardt: athletic frame, tan complexion, curly orange hair, blue eyes, tidy facial hair, relaxed yet compassionate personality**

 **Steven Vogel: stocky frame, navy-colored limp hair, black eyes behind rectangular glasses, apathetic yet eccentric personality**

* * *

 _ **Previously:**_

 _The corner of Levi's mouth twitches, briefly, then disappears into a buried frown. He's about to tell Joli something important like the truth and Sigmund's job and how urgent it is for her and this clinic to disappear..._

 _..."Tomorrow," Levi manages to say, forgetting the operation for a moment and turning back briefly from the door. He holds his mask firmly in place as strangers jostle around him._

 _A new patient's paperwork already in her hand, Joli gives a small wave across the cramped office._

 _"Please," he hears her say before the queue presses them through the door. "It's always a pleasure to see you, Luca."_

 _They're already out on the afternoon street, heading east towards their next job and escorting Isabel home to rest, when Levi realizes Joli was referring to him._

* * *

 **Year 844, the Underground District**

 **Levi**

He stands carefully by the patient bed, trying his best not to think about the disease and dirt ingrained in the deceptively white sheets.

"Just imagine it, Luca," Joli tells him, retrieving her supplies from the exam room's many cabinets. "I'm not one to propagate violence, but Vernon was always quite the athlete, and I'm grateful for that. Our clinic was broken into a few times in the past, but these people were the first to actually make it to our storage room."

Levi relaxes slightly, leaning onto the hard bed behind him. In a place like District 6, where residents know to keep quiet and walk quickly if they want to make it home safely, the young nurse's unworried, easy chatter is refreshing.

"I sleep pretty lightly anyway," she continues. She slips on a pair of latex gloves, turning to retrieve a bottle from the small cold box behind her. "And when they broke open our front lock, the sound woke me up. I rushed outside to see a man and a lady blaze in, and Vernon knocked them both out while Steven and I secured our inpatient rooms. The bizarre thing is, though, when we checked outside, ten other robbers were lying outside with multiple knife and combat wounds!"

She peers at him, gray eyes quizzical. Levi tries his best to keep his expression stoic.

"I hate to seem presumptuous," Joli says confidentially, "but are...gang politics or turf wars prevalent around here?"

Levi adjusts his black mask carefully over his nose and mouth, slightly amused.

"Extremely," he lies immediately. "This isn't exactly the safest neighborhood."

The truth is, Levi remembers that night as well, although his version is slightly different. Originally, a group of half a dozen mercenaries scaled the clinic walls at 4:18 AM. Isabella was on guard at the time, and with one quick whistle, Levi and Farlan joined her in knocking out most of the group. They were about to make chase into the clinic, betraying their identities, but Vernon emerged shortly, dragging two bodies out behind him. He seemed bewildered to see the unconscious people outside.

Oblivious, the young nurse spreads the vaccination equipment onto a tray. She gestures for Levi to pull up his sleeve.

"We patched them up," Joli continues, "and the Garrison carted them off sometime early that morning." She pauses, then gives him a little smile. "I hope they're alright."

He watches her search for an injection site on his arm, her alert, gray gaze tracing the old scars along his bicep until they finally rest on a smooth patch at his upper deltoid.

"Just warning you, this might feel a little cold, sir," she warns, dipping a cloth in some frosty glass bottle.

Today, Joli wears her white coat over a blue cotton dress and her long leather boots. Her hair is wound up into another colorful scarf, the ends tied and spilling over her shoulders. It's been two weeks since Levi decline Sigmund's job offer, and three days since the last attempted clinic robbery. The neighborhood remains eerily quiet. Even the S2 outbreak stalls in District 6, as if the virus is holding its breath in anticipation.

Joli swabs Levi's arm with something mildly stinging and antiseptic-smelling. Her hands handle the syringe carefully yet firmly, and as he watches the nurse's smooth brow furrow in concentration, Levi barely feels the pinch of the needle.

"We're done," Joli finishes, capping the needle. She gently wipes off the spot on his arm and plasters a small bandage over it. "I must say I'm impressed by your bravery," Joli says, and she smiles briefly for him to know she's teasing. "The last injection I performed was for a small kid, and he was the cutest thing...when he wasn't threatening to rip my hair out."

"What a little monster," Levi frowns, pulling his sleeve back down.

"No harm done," the nurse shrugs. One gloved hand conspicuously taps her headscarf. "Why else do you think I wear this stupid thing all the time?"

His mouth twitches, and even though most of his face is hidden, Joli notices the faint smile touching the corners of his eyes.

"I'll never understand women's fashion," Levi concludes, reaching out to examine one scarf end trailing down her shoulder.

"Pretty, isn't it," Joli hums, leaning closer to admire the watercolor patterns. "I know it's unwise to dress nicely in a job like this, but the colors remind me a lot of home."

"The colors," Levi can't help but repeat, slightly curious.

"You know," she explains abstractly. "Green grass, yellow sunshine. Sunset colors, blue skies, and the like."

He's once again reminded of her naivety, and her innocent assumption makes him remember just how different they are. Her clear affluence, displayed from her rich scarf to the fine leather on her feet, contrast against his own plain dress shirt and black trousers. Joli suddenly seems like a figure cut out of a Mitran portrait, plastered into a dank Underground clinic and detached in mind and body from who she was supposed to grow up to be.

"Those words mean very little to someone like me," Levi responds flatly.

Even the slightest hint of bitterness doesn't escape Joli's sharp senses. The nurse gently tugs the scarf out of his fingers.

"Have I upset you?" she asks, brow furrowing.

Levi shrugs, tilting his head at her. "Don't worry so much. I'm not so easily offended. Very few of us have seen the Topside in person anyway."

There's a pause. Without anything else to do, Joli's gloved hands fidget restlessly in front of her.

"I know I'm a privileged student," she suddenly says quickly, staring up at him as if making a confession. "I know I'll never truly understand anyone here even though I pretend to, and I know everyone thinks I'm an easy target because of how naive I seem. There're so many things I don't know as well, like why I came Underground in the first place, or why strange crimes keep happening around our clinic…"

Levi suddenly feels tempted to tell her that he can answer at least that last question, but her pleading expression makes him refrain. Vulnerable, new to a life she doesn't understand, striving for something she can't identify.

He marvels once again at how young she is. Suddenly, Levi's reminded of something Kenny said before leaving him to fend for himself as a child.

"It's okay, you know," Levi tells Joli firmly, "to not know the answer."

Of course, Kenny's next phrase went, "Fuck answers; all you really need in life is sharp knives". But Levi chooses to leave that part out.

Joli seems startled for a moment at his response. Then she takes a slow breath. Her entire frame deflates when she exhales.

A new, wry smile surfaces on Joli's face. It's more bittersweet than her usual generous smile, but this ironic smile is honest and, strangely enough, suits her well.

"Yeah," she rolls her eyes. "I know that too."

"And you talk way too much," Levi adds seriously. "Restrain yourself."

The nurse gives him a mock-affronted look, then abruptly grins.

"Hah. _Restraint_ ," Joli repeats dryly, peeling off her gloves. "You know what I've always wanted to do, Luca? While we're talking about _restraint?_ "

She suddenly comes too close, hand lifting and fingers knotted along the bottom of his black mask. Joli notices that it resembles a scarf more than any mask she's ever seen, loose enough to allow some ventilation but narrow enough to stay in place just below the eyes. It occurs to Levi that he can grab her wrists, outmaneuver this thin girl with ease, and leave none the wiser. But at the moment, the secrecy of his identity seems somehow less important.

Joli tilts her head at him, then drops her hands.

"So serious," she smirks, already turning to reorganize her tray of supplies. "How unprofessional it would be if I compromised the anonymity of a patient."

"You're insufferable," Levi responds tonelessly. But it takes him a moment to speak again, since the wool of his mask feels suddenly and strangely warm. "We'll gladly bring our medical needs elsewhere from now on."

"We're the only private, pro bono clinic Underground," the young nurse reminds him as she disposes of the used needle smartly into its container. "And you, Ingrid, and Rob seem to be frequent visitors."

Levi bites back his next retort and settles instead on rolling his eyes.

"Perhaps you're less insufferable than I thought," he grudgingly admits.

The nurse seems surprised for a moment at his surrender. Then she smiles prettily with such satisfaction that Levi almost regrets his words.

"Why, Luca," Joli responds, eyes silvery bright with laughter. Her chin tilts up, sardonically lofty, and the ends of her scarf tumble down her back like bright streamers. "I adore you very much as well."

* * *

 **Year 850, Stohess**

 **Medic Joli**

By the end of the hour, Stohess becomes a hundred years' worth of wreckage and chaos.

Joli flies against the river of refugees, rappelling between buildings and running swiftly along the rooftops to conserve gas. She casts a keen eye over the flocks of people, watching the citizens-young and old, rich and poor-flee, suddenly finding themselves all equally unequipped and their homes equally devastated.

Joli notes the irony and almost bitterly laughs at how futile things like wealth and liberty are when titans overrun your city.

Her smile fades the more she thinks about it.

Chill wind whips the black cape around her shoulders, making her eyes water and feel like they're freezing over. Joli's eyes flicker over the pale faces streaming in the streets below, and she registers the occasional anxious voice calling after her: "Medic!", "Soldier!", and, once, "Joli!" But by the time she turned around, the streets teemed with frightened citizens once again.

To the calls she does answer, Joli does the best she can with her limited supplies. After treating as many trauma patients as she can and bouncing the others off to the nearest hospital, Joli's left equipped with only two medkits, five bags of saline, and one four-ounce bottle of morphine.

"Please hold still," Joli neatly tells the man writhing at her feet. She brushes a strand of auburn hair out of her face, gray eyes narrowed on the faint, squiggly blue vein under the man's tailored sleeve. "This is 100 cc morphine. Enough to sedate the average-sized pony. It'll definitely calm you down."

The hypodermic needle pushed into his arm seems to prove the contrary.

"What the hell have you done to me?" the man froths, staring deliriously at the chunk of flesh torn from his chest, the entire area from his ribs to abdomen packed tightly with gauze bandages.

Joli smiles wanly, neatly removing the needle and sheathing it back into its protective cap.

"Sir, _I_ merely pulled you and your sorry ass out of the path of rampaging titans, debrided a shit ton of foreign matter from a horrific wound, and delivered some sweet morphine to keep you comfortable. You'll be in serious pain for the next few hours anyway, and the best case scenario is that you pull through on the operating table of a crowded hospital and walk out a few weeks later without keeling over from bloodloss or infection."

Joli flashes him a sweet smile, feeling more like the Lieutenant Medic of the Recon Corps than she has in a long time. "But don't say I didn't try."

"You heartless bitch," the man responds, eyes rolling upwards from a combination of pain, exhaustion, and morphine.

The medic smirks, ripping a strip of gauze and wrapping it carefully against the man's torso. "That's seriously one of the nicest things anyone's ever called me."

"Medic," someone says. "Can I help?"

Joli's sleep-deprived, adrenaline-buzzed brain barely registers the man's words, and for a moment she ignores him, thinking he's just another citizen asking for her services. Then it strikes the medic that behind her stands a civilian offering help—the first layman to stop and wonder about the wellbeing of others that she's encountered in a long time—and the idea makes her beam. She whips around, and as she stands, her wool cape snaps neatly around her knees.

"Ah," Joli says, the astonishment replaced by a different kind of surprise. Suddenly possessed by the urge to push the long bangs stuck to her cheeks, Joli quickly remembers her bloody gloved hands and decides against it. Briskly collecting herself, Joli surveys the raven-haired, stoic-faced man behind her.

"Captain," she greets as coolly as she can.

Levi shifts, slightly intrigued that even in a situation like this, Joli Lieber's posture is as impeccable as ever.

"Medic," he repeats.

Levi feels her quick eyes capture him in their keen, diagnostic way. Immediately she notices his ankle swelling under its wrappings, his usually neat hair limp and in disarray, and the tired, dark circles pressed under his eyes like stickers against his pale skin. Somehow her gaze even lingers on the knife slid into his boot, pushing against his broken leg like a brace. It's barely noticeable through the tough leather, but the captain swears he catches her smile slightly before glancing up again.

Meanwhile, for some reason, the sight of this grim-faced, unkept Captain strikes Joli as absurd. The man who's killed hundreds of titans outside the walls reminds Joli suddenly of all the exhausted, caffeine-addicted Academy upperclassmen studying for their medical exams. To Levi's confusion, the Lieutenant Medic makes a happy noise in her throat, and although the streets are as chaotic and clamorous as they were a moment again, everything seems somehow lighter now.

"I'm sure this isn't the reunion you were expecting," she smiles prettily, enjoying the confused apprehension on Levi's face. At his reaction, Joli's eyes pull further into laughing crescents. "To be quite honest, I'm quite relieved that you're here."

"That doesn't sound like something you'd ever say sincerely," Levi responds automatically, arms folding suspiciously over his uniform. "And I wasn't expecting any sort of reunion. We were marked for death the last time I saw you, and you weren't at Erwin's meeting last night."

"I was doing laundry," Joli responds offhandedly. "A pity I missed it."

They're interrupted by a titan's distant roar, and a fresh wave of cries rush by as more civilians flee.

"Eren Jaeger," the medic says thoughtfully once it passes. "Cute kid."

"Impulsive brat," Levi grumbles at the same time.

Joli gives another short laugh. Briefly, her eyes sweep over the destroyed sidewalks, the fleeing people. They eventually meet his serious look with a surprising amount of resigned sympathy.

"I suppose in that respect we're the same, Captain," Joli quips, voice light but eyes disapproving. "We've both had to clean up that boy's messes."

Levi furrows his brow at the ridiculous girl in front of him.

She stands tall despite the streaks of dirt and dust and blood and other stains over her face and once-white tunic. Joli's dark hair escapes from the bun it's tied into, contaminated medical gloves stick out of her cloak pockets, and medkits hang half-empty at her sides. Levi thinks it ironic that despite her cold rationality and self-described cynicism, the medic's followed the titan's trail of destruction diligently, doing the best she can to treat civilians. The medic's unshakable voice and brisk manner of speaking contrast greatly against her almost comically emotive eyes and face.

Looking at her, Joli's eyes are alight with adrenaline and fear, sadness for her patients and caffeine. In this moment—in the momentary peace granted from standing in the eye of the hurricane—Joli peers at Levi expectantly and waits for a response. The conversation and relaxed banter feels so bizarrely normal that it startles both of them.

For a moment Levi has nothing to say besides, "I thought you went home."

"How kind of you to think of me," Joli retorts, pleased.

"I'm constantly concerned for the well-being of your patients," Levi responds flatly, glancing briefly at the glassy-eyed man lying at Joli's feet. Following his eyes, the medic falls gracefully on one knee and gently props her patient up with her shoulder. "For some reason, the Head Medic overlooks your sadistic tendencies, but I know the truth. Don't flatter yourself."

Joli stops to smirk up at him. Windblown hair flies away from her face, giving Joli appearance of a wild fox. "I'm only tough to the ones who I know can take it."

"Poor bastards," Levi responds, mouth twitching, and he kneels down to help her.

Together, they bring the man to his feet. As Joli tells the captain directions to the nearest hospital, the patient leans heavily against Levi. He grimaces slightly, shifting to keep the weight off of his injured ankle.

"It'll likely be understaffed and overcrowded in this shitspray," Joli explains, peeling off her stained gloves smartly. "Use your best judgement, and keep the people in non-critical condition moving. Send any unneeded physicians and assistants and nurses in my direction, and tell your soldiers that once this titan mess is resolved, we'll need them to help move the injured towards real hospitals..."

Levi nods, noting her instructions.

Joli's face has relaxed into a brief calm as she speaks, like she feels at home in the middle of disaster. And as her hands smartly wrap up the length of excess gauze, face flushed from flying on 3DMG, and entrusting him with a patient she evidently feels confident can survive, Levi marvels that Joli very much resembles that young, optimistic girl from the Underground clinic so many years before.

The moment passes when the patient shudders next to him and vomits onto the cracked street.

Joli makes a sympathetic noise. "Ah, well, that'd be the morphine."

"We should go," Levi responds, disgustedly trying to maneuver himself and the man away. The hospital Joli described stands about half a kilometer away, a wearisome trudge back towards the eastern section of Stohess.

"Ah, Captain," the medic adds before he leaves, taking up her 3DMG grapples again. Joli gives him an assured smile. "When you're free, make sure to come back to me, okay? Returning to the spot of incidence is common practice in the face of medical emergencies."

"Sure," the soldier responds dryly, wondering if he'll even get to the hospital in this condition. "Anything else?"

The medic pauses for a second, expression thoughtful. Then in the next moment, her sharp chin quirks up, and Joli's eyes regain their jovial gray sheen that reminds Levi of polished metal. Remembering the bowl of nasty Recon Corps provisions, Joli considers briefly about how much she disliked this laconic and supposedly merciless captain. Now, she examines Levi as he supports her patient.

He's a marked man, a Royal criminal, and stripped of all his weapons besides his acidic wit and the few knives carefully hidden beneath his clothes. And yet, in this renegade state, Levi and his sharp, dark eyes somehow seem more pleasant and disconcertingly familiar than Joli had previously noticed.

"You know," the medic says after a purposeful silence, "you're less insufferable than I thought."

Levi scoffs, surprised, since he swears he's heard those words before. But by the time he remembers when, Joli's already flown off and running swiftly along the shingled roofs of the next neighborhood.

* * *

 **Character commentary:**

 **Author: Okay, our goal today is to try and solicit reviews. Any ideas?**

 **[Joshua raises hand]**

 **Author: Yes?**

 **Joshua: Violence!**

 **Sophie: [sighs] I'm not married to him.**

 **Author: [smh] I wrote him as too much of a memer. Anyone else? Joli?**

 **Joli: With all due respect, Miss Author, on the limited list of things I care about, reviews don't rank particularly highly.**

 **Levi [to author]: She was much more receptive when she was younger.**

 **Joli: [eyeroll] I was a lot of things when I was younger, Captain. Not many of them laudable qualities.**

 **Vernon [to Joshua]: She's cute, isn't she? You know, Joli saved my ass many, many times in the clinic.**

 **Joshua [to Vernon]: Holy shit, I thought I was the only one! How does she remember so many things at once?! Joli's damn perceptive.**

 **Steven [emerging from behind a surgical magazine]: It's rather off-putting, actually.**

 **Joli: [flips hair, pleased] _Well._**

 **Author: This isn't working. We're getting nowhere by brainstorming like this. I can't believe I wrote characters who're such...INSUFFERABLE PEOPLE.**

 **Levi, Steven: …**

 **Sophie: Did she just…reference her _own chapter title?_**

 **Vernon, Joshua, Joli: We quit.**

* * *

 **Please review!**


End file.
